Great Contemporaries

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GREAT

CONTEMPORARIES

GREAT

CONTEMPORARIES

BY

WINSTON S. CHURCHILL

THE REPRINT SOCIETY
LONDON

THIS EDITION PUBLISHED BY THE REPRINT SOCIETY, LTD.

BY ARRANGEMENT WITH MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.

^ 94 *

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PREFACE

These essays on Great Men of our age have been written
by me at intervals during the last eight years.* Although
each is self-contained, they throw, from various angles, a
light upon the main course of the events through which we
have lived. I hope they will be found to illustrate some of
its less well-known aspects. Taken together they should
present not only the actors but the scene. In their sequence
they may perhaps be the stepping-stones of historical
narrative.

I have preferred not to include any of the British political
or military figures who are with us to-day. This does not
imply lack cither of material or appreciation. There is
greater freedom in dealing with the past. The central theme
is of course the group of British statesmen who shone at the
end of the last century and the beginning of this — Balfour,
Chamberlain, Rosebery, Morley, Asquith and Gurzon. All
lived, worked and disputed for so many years together,
knew each other well, and esteemed each other highly. It
was my privilege as a far younger man to be admitted to
their society and their kindness. Reading again these chap-
ters has brought them back to me, and made me feel how
much has changed in our political life. Perhaps this is but
the illusion which comes upon us all as we grow older.
Each succeeding generation will sing with conviction the
Harrow song, ‘ There were wonderful giants of old *. Cer-
tainly we must all hope this may prove to be so. In the
meantime those to whom these great men are but names —

• Written in 1937.

PREFACE

vi

that is to say the vast majority of my readers — may perhaps
be glad to gain from these notes some acquaintance with
them.

Though I have made very large additions, I have in
almost every case left the text as I originally wrote it.
Here and there it has been necessary, in these swiftly-moving
times, to bring the story up to date. I have also softenecV
a few judgments or expressions before admitting them to
a permanent record. In particular I have rewritten the
story of the resignations from Mr. Balfour’s Cabinet in 1903,
and it now presents to the public what is I believe for the
first time a correct account. I am also indebted to a friend
for the detail of the events attending Mr. Bonar Law’s
resignation and the choice of Mr. Baldwin as his successor
by King George.

♦

Since I wrote the preceding paragraphs for the original
1937 edition a further reprint of the book has been called
for and I have taken the opportunity of adding four addi-
tional biographies. These concern Lord Fisher, Charles
Stewart Parnell, Lord Baden-Powell and Franklin D.
Koosevelt«

WINSTON SPENCER CHURCHILL.

CONTENTS

PAGF

Preface ......... v

The Earl of Rosebery ...... i

The Ex-Kaiser . . . . . . .21

George Bernard Shaw ...... 35

Joseph Chamberlain ....... 45

Sir John French ....... 63

John Morley ........ 79

Hindenburg ........ 95

, Herbert Henry Asquith . . . . .109

Lawrence of Arabia . . . . .127

‘ F. E.’ First Earl of Birkenhead . . . • *43

Marshal Foch . . . , . . . • *59

Alfonso XIII ........ 169

Douglas Haig . . . . . . . . *83

Arthur James Balfour . . . . . • *97

Hitler and his Choice, 1935 . . . . .221

George Nathaniel Curzon ..... 233

Philip Snowden . . . . *251

Glemenceau ........ 261

Kino George V . . . . . ., . 27q

Lord Fisher and his Biographer .... 293

Charles Stewart Parnell ..... 305

‘ B.-P.’ 323

Roosevelt from Afar . . . . . *33*

vii

GREAT

CONTEMPORARIES

A Portrait Galleiy

Ki\(; (ii

VIC'IORIAXS AND EDWARDIANS

Ti!F Earl of Rosfbfry
Arihur Jame^s Balfour

Joseph ( .hamiifri ain
I li RULRi Hlnkv A^<^uim

SOVEREIGNS AND SOCIALISES

WiiniJ.M II
Philip Snuwdln

Alfonso XIII
CtcmGE Bernard Shaw

WARRIORS 1914-1B

Foch

FbllLR

Hindi, NUURG
La\\ rlncjl;

Gl.ORUtS Cli-menceau

[Elliot and Fry.

THE EARL OF ROSEBERY

THE EARL OF ROSEBERY

It might be said that Lord Rosebery outlived his future
by ten years and his past by more than twenty. The
brilliant prospects which had shone before him until he
became Prime Minister in 1894 were dispersed by the break-
up of his Government and the decisive defeat of the Liberal
Party in 1895. The part he took as an Imperialist and a
patriot in supporting, four years later, the South African
War destroyed his hold upon the regard and confidence of a
large section of the Radical masses. His resignation of the
Leadership of the Liberal Party had already released them
from their allegiance. By his definite declaration against
Home Rule when Mr. Balfour’s fall in 1905 was approach-
ing, he cut himself off deliberately and resolutely from all
share in the impending Liberal triumph and long reign of
power. He severed himself by purposeful action from his
friends and followers. ‘ Content to let occasion die he
withdrew from all competition for leadership in the political
arena; he erected barriers against his return which he
meant to be insurmountable; he isolated himself in cool
and unaffectedly disdainful detachment. It was known only
too well that overtures would be useless. By 1905 his
political career was closed for ever. It was only in 1929
that his long life ended.

Dwelling in his wide and beautiful estates, moving fre^
quently from one delightful house and one capacious library
to another, he lived to sustain the burden of an eightieth
birthday, lighted by the refinements of profound and4
astonishingly wide-ranging literary knowledge, amused by
the Turf, and cheered and companioned by his children and
his grandchildren. The aflGiictions of old age fell successively

3

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

4

with gathering weight upon him in his ever-deepening
retirement; and when he died his name and actions had
faded entirely from the public mind, and were only revived
and presented to the eyes of a new generation by the obituary
notices. But those actions, and still more the character
and personality which lay behind them, are worthy of most
careful study, not only for the sake of their high merit, but
at least as much for their limitations.

Lord Rosebery was probably my father’s greatest friend-
They were contemporaries at Eton and at Oxford. Although
apparently divided by party, they moved in the same
society, had many friends in common, and pursued the
same pleasures and sports — of which racing was ever the
sovereign. Their correspondence was sparkling and con-
tinuous, and their intimate personal relations were never
affected by the fierce political struggles of the ’eighties, or
by any vicissitudes of fortune.

I inherited this friendship, or rather the possibility of
renewing it in another generation. I was anxious to culti-
vate it for many reasons, of which the first was to learn
more about my father from his contemporary, his equal and
his companion. With some at least of those feelings of
awe and attraction which led Boswell to Dr. Johnson, I
sought occasions to develop the acquaintance of childhood
into a grown-up firiendship. At first he did not seem to
approve of me: but after the South African War, when I
had at least become well known and was a young M.P., he
began to show me marked kindness. The biography of my
father by which I was soon absorbed opened a wide and
fertile field of common interest. He assisted actively in the
enterprise, drew richly upon his funds of choice reminiscence,
collected letters and documents, read proofs, criticized sym-
pathetically but pcnetratingly both the subject and the
work. This formed a theme of cdtnmon interest between us
and built a bridge across the gulf of a different generation.

During the years of my literary task, from 1900 to 1905,

THE EARL OF ROSEBERY 5

I was often his guest in all his houses, at Mentmore, in
Berkeley Square, at the Durdans hard by Epsom Downs,
on the Firth of Forth at Dalmeny, at his shooting lodge,
Rosebery ; and we also met year after year on long visits to
common friends in the delicious autumn of the Scottish
Highlands. Politics provided additional links and ties ; for
we were both adrift from our parties. He was out of
sympathy with the Liberals: I was soon quarrelling with
the Tories. We could both toy with the dream of some
new system and grouping of men and ideas, in which one
could be an Imperialist without swallowing Protection, and a
social reformer without Little Englandism or class bitterness.
We had certainly that solid basis of agreement and har-
mony of outlook upon middle courses, which is shared by
many sensible people and was in those days abhorrent to
party machines. Need one add that the party machines
always prove the stronger?

Over the biography one awkwardness arose. Lord Rose-
bery’s interest was so strong and his desire to help delineate
his friend so keen, that he took the trouble to write a con-
siderable appreciation of Lord Randolph, which he suggested
I should incorporate textually in my account. I was deeply
touched, and at the same time embarrassed: for after all
I had my own way of doing things, and the literary integrity
of a work is capital. Moreover, his picture of Randolph
Churchill’s school days contained the word ‘ scug ’, an Eton
slang term which I considered derogatory and unsuited to a
biography written by a son. I therefore deferentially but
obstinately resisted this expression. He stuck to it and
explained its harmless Etonian significance. In the end he
wrote that I had rejected his contribution and that it was
withdrawn. A few years later it appeared as the widely-
read and deeply-interesting monograph on Lord Randolph
and my book about him, in which Lord Rosebery drew
with admiration and affection the * brilliant being ’ who had
so compulsively cheered, charmed, directed, and startled

6 GREAyT CONTEMPORARIES

his youth and prime. The incident, though it distressed
me at the time, did not seem in any way to rankle in my
illustrious friend. He had all the grand comprehensions,
and though sensitive to a degree, did not take my recal-
citrance amiss. On the contrary, I think he liked me the
better for my filial prudery.

It is difficult to convey the pleasure I derived from his
conversation as it ranged easily and spontaneously upon all
kinds of topics ‘ from grave to gay, from lively to severe *.
Its peculiar quality was the unexpected depths or suggestive
turns which revealed the size of the subject and his own
background of knowledge and reflection. At the same time
he was full of fun. He made many things not only arrest-
ing, but merry. He seemed as much a master of trifles
and gossip as of weighty matters. He was keenly curious
about every aspect of life. Sportsman, epicure, bookworm,
literary critic, magpie collector of historical relics, appre-
ciative owner of veritable museums of art treasures, he
never needed to tear a theme to tatters. In lighter vein he
flitted jauntily from flower to flower like a glittering insect,
by no means unprovided with a sting. And then in contrast,
out would come his wise, matured judgments upon the great
men and events of the past. But these treats were not
always given. He was at his best with two or three and
on his day; and sometimes in larger company he seemed
shy and ill at ease. When he was out of humour, he could
cast a chill over all, and did not hesitate to freeze and
snub. On these occasions his face became expressionless,
almost a slab, and his eyes lost their light and fire. One
saw an altogether different person. But after a bit one
knew the real man was there all the time, hiding perversely
behind a curtain. And all the more agreeable was it when
he came out.

Hardest of all is it to revive the impression which he
produced upon his hearers when dealing with the greatest
affairs. His life was set in an atmosphere of tradition.

THE EARL OF ROSEBERY 7

The Past stood ever at his elbow and was the counsellor
upon whom he most relied. He seemed to be attended by
Learning and History, and to carry into current events an
air of ancient majesty. His voice was melodious and deep,
and often, when listening, one felt in living contact with
the centuries which are gone, and perceived the long con-
tinuity of our island tale.

Lord Rosebery was the first Prime Minister for many
years who had never served in the House of Commons.
He will very likely be the last. Whatever one may think
about democratic government, it is just as well to have
practical experience of its rough and slatternly foundations.
No part of the education of a politician is more indispensable
than the fighting of elections. Here you come in contact
with all sorts of persons and every current of national life.
You feel the Constitution at work in its primary processes.
Dignity may suffer, the superfine gloss is soon worn away;
nice particularisms and special private policies arc scraped
off; much has to be accepted with a shrug, a sigh or a
smile; but at any rate in the end one knows a good deal
about what happens and why.

Rosebery had none of this. He addressed and captivated
great meetings; he gained the plaudits of tumultuous
crowds ; he followed Mr. Gladstone through all the immense
popular enthusiasms of the Midlothian campaign. But
these were the show occasions, where ardent supporters were
marshalled in overwhelming strength. They were very
different from the bustling experience of a Parliamentary
candidature, with its disorderly gatherings, its organized
oppositions, its hostile little meetings, its jeering throng,
its stream of disagreeable and often silly questions.

Rosebery’s Eton tutor in something of a spirit of prophecy
said of him that he ‘ sought the palm without the dust *.
This was not true in the sense in which the phrase is often
used — that of avoiding hard work. Rosebery was capable
of very hard work and of long hours of daily concentration

8

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

both on politics and literature. He sought indeed the palm,
but the dust had never come his way; and when in high
station the compromises, the accommodations, the inevitable
acquiescence in inferior solutions, were forced upon him, he
was not toughened against these petty vexations, or trained
to see them in their true light. Although equipped with
capacious knowledge of the part of a modem Statesman,
he was essentially a survival from a vanished age, when
great Lords ruled with general acceptance and strove, how-
ever fiercely, only with others like themselves. While
he stood under the aegis of Mr. Gladstone, the Radical
masses presented themselves as devoted, loyal, enthusiastic
adherents. It was not until the Gladstonian spell had
passed away that he realized how very imperfect was his
contact with them. He did not think as they thought, or
feel as they felt, or understand the means of winning their
unselfish and unbounded allegiance. He understood the
hard conditions of their lives, and was intellectually indignant
at their wrongs and sufferings. His mind ranged back
across centuries of their history, and selected with shrewd
and wise judgment the steps required to sustain their pro-
gress and welfare. But actually to handle them, to wrestle
with them, to express their passion and win their confidence,
this he could not do.

Professor Goldwin Smith, with whom he was on terms of
intimate acquaintance and correspondence, said of him to
me in Toronto in 1900, ‘ Rosebery feels about Democracy
as if he were holding a wolf by the ears This was a harsh
judgment, and probably beyond the truth; but it was not
opposed to the truth. As the franchise broadened and
the elegant, glittering, imposing trappings faded from
British Parliamentary and public life. Lord Rosebery was
conscious of an ever-widening gap between himself and the
Radical electorate. The great principles ^ for which Hamp-
den died in the field and Sidney on the scaffold the econo-
mics and philosophy of Mill, the venerable inspuration oi

THE EARL OF ROSEBERY 9

Gladstonian memories, were no longer enough. One had to
face the caucus, the wire-puller and the soap-box ; one had
to stand on platforms built of planks of all descriptions.
He did not like it. He could not do it. He would not try.
He knew what was wise and fair and true. He would not
go through the laborious, vexatious and at times humiliat-
ing processes necessary under modem conditions to bring
about these great ends. He would not stoop; he did not
conquer.

Let us test these general comments by his career. The
milestones of Rosebery’s public life stand forth abruptly
along the track. He was one of the first Whig nobles
who as a young man embraced the Liberal and democratic
conceptions of the later nineteenth century. The stir and
enthusiasm of Mr. Gladstone’s Midlothian campaign carried
him into politics. There he was, on the spot, a gifted,
bright figure in Edinburgh and Scotland, thirty-one or
thirty-two, with all that rank and fortune could bestow.
And here was the Grand Old Man, to listen to whose words
rich and poor travelled for days and stood in rain and mist
for hours, fighting in Rosebery’s own Scottish domain for
what seemed to be a world cause. Rosebery plunged into
politics as ‘ a chivalrous adventure ’. ‘ When I found my-

self in this evil-smelling bog, I was always trying to extricate
myself. That is the secret of what people used to call my
lost opportunities and so forth.’

These rather bitter words written in the years of eclipse
did not in any way represent the effort, the industry, the
resolution, or the robust citizenship which Rosebery con-
tributed for a quarter of a century to British and Imperial
^airs. He was an earnest, painstaking man whose heart
beat the faster for any cause touching the honour or the
greatness of Britain or which concerned the well-being and
progress of the mass of the people. He served an apprentice-
ship of some years in minor offices. He pressed for Scottish
legislation more advanced than any for which Mr. Glad-

lO GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

stone’s Cabinet of 1880 was prepared. He became at a
bound amid general applause Foreign Secretary in Mr.
Gladstone’s Government of 1886, Here came the second
milestone. Home Rule split the Liberal Party to the roots.
Every man had to choose which way he would go. Rose-
bery had no sentimental liking for the Irish. But although
in his historical writings he repressed his bias, he had
latent in him all the Whig scorn for Tories. He stood up
to them. He adhered to Mr. Gladstone. He went into
the wilderness with him.

The favour or frown of Society contacts in those days
played a part in public life incomprehensible to the present
generation. But Rosebery stood so high in the land that
he could look down upon the cuts and resentments of the
London governing class. He was upon occasion as stiff a
Radical as John Morley. He had at times a large though
indefinite following among Trade Unionists and labouring
men. The spectacle of this eloquent, magnificent personage
separating himself from the bulk of his class, ’ biding by
the Buff and the Blue ’, excited the hostility of the Unionist
Party, and filled the Liberals in the cool shade with a sense
of hope and expectancy for his future. It clung to him
through years of misunderstanding and disappointment. At
first they said ‘ He will come ’. Then for years ‘ If only he
would come’. And finally, long after he had renounced
politics for ever, ‘ If only he would come back ’.

Out of office, by birth debarred from the experience
of electioneering and of House of Commons rough-and-
tumble, he found in the London County Council the most
lively substitute open to a peer. He was the first anH
greatest chairman of the London County CounciL For
nearly three years he guided, impelled and adorned its
activities. He raised the status of the municipal life of
London to the level of ministerial office. At the centre of
twenty-two committees he laid strong, keen hands upon
every aspect of London government. When, sorely smitten

THE EARL Ot ROSEBERY

II

by the Parnell divorce and other Irish difficulties, Mr.
Gladstone and the Liberal Party returned to power at the
election of 1892 with a majority of only forty, dependent
upon the Irish vote, Rosebery was for the second time the
widely-acclaimed Foreign Secretary of the new adminis-
tration. More than ever he was ‘ the man of the future ’.

He seemed at this time to represent in a Liberal guise
the Disraelian idea of Tory Democracy, revived by Lord
Randolph Churchill, and also the cruder but fair more
effective form of Radical-Imperialism embodied in his final
phase by Joseph Chamberlain. In the main the differences
between all these three men were questions of emphasis and
style. Rosebery expressed the spirit of the modem British
Empire with a foresight and precision which make him in
retrospect the immediate spiritual successor of Disraeli.
The discordances of his culminating period arose from the
fact that he became the ministerial successor of Mr. Glad-
stone. Now that I reflect upon his conversation and re-read
his speeches in Lord Crewe’s deeply-informed biography, I
^ realize that he responded spontaneously to the same stimuli
\ which actuated Disraeli. Indeed he often seems to march
out of the pages of Coningsby — the aristocrat-champion of
the poor and depressed classes — ‘ I would madsLe these great
slum-landlords skip.’

And at the same time to dream of a glorious and abiding
British Empire, freed to the utmost possible degree from
European entanglements, was at all times his indulgence,
and to achieve it his aim. He carried the story of Empire
forward into a chapter only read with comprehension after
he had long ceased to be an actor on the political stage.
Who can dispute these somewhat unfashionable assertions
in the light of his message to Australia delivered at Adelaide
on January 18, 1883? : \ . These arc no longer colonies

in the ordinary sense of the term; but I claim that this
is a country which has established itself a nation, and
that its nationality is now and will be henceforward recog*

19

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

nizcd by the world. . . . But there is a farther question;
docs this fact of your being a nation imply separation
from the Empire? God forbid! There is no need for
any nation, however great, leaving the Empire, because
the Empire is a Commonwealth of Nations' Rosebery lived
to see this phrase, which fell from the prescient lips of
genius, become fifty years later the accepted statutory
law which now to-day alone encircles the most numerous,
the most diverse, the most wide-spread, voluntary, but
none the less habitual, association of states and nations of
which there is record.

The disharmonies and the eventual rupture of his political
career sprang from his proud and at times supercilious
inability to subject himself to the mechanism of modem
democracy and to the exigencies of rfie party caucus. Had
he possessed Mr. Baldwin’s phlegmatic capacity of putting
up with a score of unpleasant and even humbling situations,
in order to be master of something very big at the end of
a blue moon, he would indeed have been not only a Prophet
but a Judge in Israel. He was far too sensitive, too highly
strung, for these compromises and submissions. He was a
child and brilliant survivor of the old vanishing, and now
vanished, oligarchic world which across the centuries had
.built the might and the freedom of Britain. He was often
palpably out of touch with his environment ; perhaps that
is no censure upon him. It must, however, be emphasized
that physically he did not stand the stresses well. In times
of crisis and responsibility his active, fertile mind and
imagination preyed upon him. He was bereft of sleep. He
mi^[nified tr^es. He failed to separate the awkward inci-
dents of the hour from the long swing of events, which he
so clearly understood. Toughness when nothing particular
was happening was not the form of fortitude in which he
excelled. He was unduly attracted by the dramatic, and
by the pleasure of making a fine gesture. He would not
join Mr. Gladstone’s Government in 1880, for that might

THE EARL OF ROSEBERY I3

seem to be the direct reward of his share in the Midlothian
campaign. He volunteered to join after the death of General
Gordon at Khartoum, because then it was a case of ‘ all
hands to the pumps In a wearing ordeal his thoughts
strayed to the fine speech he could make on resignation.
And then he was of course never given the chance of wield-
ing real power. He never held office with a large, loyal,
solid majority behind him. He never had a united party
at his back, and could never plan ahead for two or three
years at a time.

How these Victorians busied themselves and contended
about minor things! What long, brilliant, impassioned
letters they wrote each other about refined personal and
political issues of which the modem Juggernaut progression
takes no account! They never had to face, as we have
done, and still do, the possibility of national ruin. Their
main foundations were never shaken. They dwelt in
an age of British splendour and unchallenged leadership.
The art of government was exercised within a limit^
sphere. World-revolution, mortal defeat, national subjuga-
tion, chaotic degeneration, or even national bankruptcy,
had not laid steel claws upon their sedate, serene, com-
placent life. Rosebery flourished in an age of great men
and small events.

The third milestone at the top of his life marked his
Prime Ministership — ‘ First Minister of the Crown * as he
would call it. This indeed was a strangely-lighted episode.
Early in 1894 Mr. Gladstone, eighty-four years old, resigned
bis leadership of Her Majesty’s Government and the Liberal
Party in protest against the Navy estimates and what he
called ‘ the increasing militarism of the times ’. Two men
stood forth to succeed him — Rosebery and Harcourt. Rose-
bery was in the Lords, Harcourt in the Commons. Sir
William Harcourt was a genial, accomplished Parliamen-
tarian, a party man, ambitious in a calculating style, a
Falstaffian figure, with an eye fixed earnestly, but by no

14 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

means unerringly, upon the main chance. The Liberal
Government, holding office by the Irish vote, assailed
vehemently by the far more solid Unionist array, was
struggling along under the freely-used veto of the House
of Lords, by majorities which sometimes fell below twenty,
towards an ugly election. It was a bleak, precarious,
wasting inheritance.

It was at this time that he most felt the need of his wife,
who had died some years before. With all her almost
excessive adoration of Rosebery, she was ever a pacifying
and comf>osing element in his life, which he was never
able to find again, because he never could give full con-
fidences to anyone else. She was a remarkable woman on
whom he had leaned, and without her he was maimed.

The Cabinet were all agreed that they would not serve
under Harcourt. The party were pretty sure he would not
fill the bill. Rosebery became Prime Minister, but Har-
court as Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the
House of Commons held the real power. He stipulated for
special conditions. He was to decide in a Parliamentary
emergency upon the action of the Government in the House
of Commons. He must be informed of every detail of
Foreign Affairs. He must have the Cabinet called whenever
he chose. He must have a share in patronage. In so
far as these claims were not unreasonable, there was no
need to prefer them. They must in practice have been
conceded firom day to day. But a formal contract was
novel. Rosebery said quite simply that he did not want
to be Prime Minister at all, but if he were, he must be a
real Prime Minister. However, in the end Harcourt exacted
his conditions. The gravamen against him is that he did
not keep his side of the pact. Rosebery did not receive
fair play from him. On the contrary, he used all his
frequent and potent opportunities to torment and harry the
Prime Minister, and make his position intolerable. Thus
Rosebery’s Premiership of less than two years was a period

THE EARL OF ROSEBERY

15

of endless vexation. His only consolation was to win the
Derby as Prime Minister twice running, with Ladas and
Sir Visto, to the huge scandal of the Nonconformist con-
science. Flouted, frustrated, undermined by Lobby in-
trigue, and finally overwhelmed by the strong surge of
Unionist power, Rosebery and with him the Liberals were
swept away for ten years in the summer of 1895 into the
trough of disunited opposition. He never held office again.

There remained the final stroke. The Armenian mass-
acres of 1896 excited the defeated Liberals. They clamoured
for intervention and strong measures against Turkey.
Rosebery with his Foreign Office outlook did not share this
mood. He did not voice the party feeling. Mr. Gladstone
emerged from his retirement with a tremendous speech
recalling Midlothian days. Rosebery resigned the disputed
leadership of the Liberal Party, and resolved to retire for
ever from politics. But he was still under fifty, and life
rolled on.

The Boer War brought new cleavages in the Liberal
Party, which in those days comprised and held in suspended
animation all the forces now represented by British Social-
ism. Rosebery unswervingly supported the war, and with
him stood the ablest Liberal statesmen of the future —
Asquith, Grey, and Haldane. They formed for mutual
protection the Liberal Imperial League. But the spirit of
the party was estranged. The rank and file wanted to
attack the Tory Government and the war as well. A
youngish Welshman, Lloyd George, with fiery mocking
tongue said all the things they wished to hear — and even
more. Years of barren internal bickering followed. Rose-
bery could not extricate himself from the political fight,
which he now detested in all sincerity. He faced the enmity
of the Irish. He bore the aversion of the Radicals and
Labour men. He listened wearily to the endless remon-
strances of the Party press. Still at times his voice rang
throughout the land. In his arresting speech at Chesterfield

l6 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

in December, 1901 , he called for a meeting at ‘ a wayside inn ’
which should bring about peace with the valiant, desperate
Boer commandos. This was a recognizable factor in bring*
ing about the Treaty of Vereeniging. He took a prominent
part in the fight to preserve the Free Trade system, and
for a time in 1905 it seemed that he would take hb place
in a Liberal Restoration. But he lost touch with his firiends,
or they lost touch with him ; and always he reiterated that
he would never take office £^ain. So the great Government
of 1905 was formed without him, and for nearly a quarter
of a century he remained willingly, resolutely, but at the
same time uneasily, the spectator of formidable and fateful
events.

It was in the sphere of Foreign Affairs that Rosebery
found his home. Here he was Master. He combined the
knowledge of the hbtorian or of a Foreign Office official with
the practical understanding and the habit of command of a
Statesman. He did not have to form hb views from the
files of papers set before him. He knew the whole long
hbtory about how all these nations had lived their lives for
two or three hundred years, and what they had fought about,
and which ones had been subjugated and were boilii^ with
ancient wrongs under the smooth surface of modernbm.
He knew with pregnant conviction much that other leading
men in England — and may we add the United States — only
found out during and after the Peace Conference. He knew
not only the Britbh share in bygone events, but the whole
European tale. Jugoslavia and Czechoslovakia — then un*
bom — the failings and vitalities of partitioned Poland, and
the vanbhed Empire of Stephen Doshan, were — no doubt
under other symbols — living realities to him. He felt in
hb bones, with hb finger-tips, all that subtorranean, sub-
conscious movement whereby the vast antagonbms of the
Great War were slowly, remorsel^ly, inexorably assembling.
He had laboriously inspected the foundations of European
Peace ; he saw where the cracks were, and where a subsidence

THE EARL OF ROSEBERY I7

would produce a crash. His heart responded instinctively
to any readjustment or disturbance of the balance of power.

In Rosebery’s time Foreign Affairs and war dangers were
invested with a false glamour and shrouded in opaque f
ignorance. But when some school-teacher was dismissed in
Upper Silesia Rosebery said to me, ‘ All Prussia has been
shaken When Delcass^ was forced to resign, he said that
the German Army corps were afoot. And when Lord Lans-
downe signed the Anglo-French Agreement of August, 1904,
with all the prestige of the Conservative Party behind him,
and amid the tributes of Liberals and Pacifists all over
the world, Rosebery said in public that ‘ it was far more
likely to lead to War than to Peace

This last I conceive to be the greatest proof of his insight.

I was a very young man at the time, but I recall the situa-
tion vividly. The Conservative reign was in its plenitude.
But there was the perennial quarrel with France — gun-
boats at Bangkok; later the French resentments about
Fashoda ; all the Liberals crying out for peace, for reconcilia-
tion with France, for the lifting of a dangerous and vibrant
animosity. ‘ Let us settle with our nearest neighbour. Let
us make mutual concessions and have no more fears of
war with France,’ Rarely has national agreement been
more complete. The Foreign Secretary moved forward
amid general, nay, almost universal applause. The pact
between England and France was made, all the small dis-
putes were swept away amid sincere rejoicings. Only one
voice — Rosebery’s — was raised in discord : in public ‘ Far
more likely to lead to War than to Peace ’ ; in private
‘ Straight to War ’.

It must not be thought that I regret the decisions which
were in fact taken. I do not think that any movements
on the European chessboard could have prevented the
challenge to world peace sooner or later of the ever-growing
overweening military power and temper of Germany. The
occasion would have been different, the hour might have

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

l8

been delayed, the grouping of Powers might not have been
the same; but given the world as it was at the beginning
of the twentieth century, I doubt if anything could have
averted the hideous collision. And if it had to come, we
must thank God it came in such a way that the world was
v^th us through the conflict.

There was another sphere in which Rosebery moved with
confidence and distinction. He was one of those men of
affairs who add to the unsure prestige of a minister and the
fleeting successes of an orator the more enduring achieve-
ments of literature. Some of his most polished work is
found in his Rectorial Addresses and in his appreciations of
great poets and writers like Burns and Stevenson. His
private letters, of which he wrote so many, are alive with
fPByronic wit and colour. His style, lucid, pointed, musical
and restrained, was an admirable vehicle for conveying his
treasure of historical research to the world. He has enriched
our language with a series of biographical studies, terse,
pregnant and authoritative, which will long be read with
pleasure and instruction on both sides of the Atlantic.
Pitty Peel, Randolph Churchill, are literary gems, and on
the larger scale Chatham and Napoleon make definite con-
tributions to the judgment of history. Yet even in this
field there are some characteristic, self-imposed limitations.
He never planned or executed a work of the first magnitude
— a work to hold the field against all comers for a century.
His taste, discernment, and learning were directed to partial
tasks, and in these he attracts and stimulates the reader,
only to leave his main curiosities unsatisfied. Rosebery^s
Chatham ends before the great period has begun; his
Napoleon begins only when it has ended. We are excited;
we demand more ; we seek the climax. But the author has
retired again to his solitudes. The curtain is pulled down
and the gleaming lights extingyished — and now, alas,
extingubhed for ever.

The war he had dre^cd came to pass by the paths he

THE EARL OP ROSEBERY I9

had foreseen, but his heart beat high for Britain. His
younger son, the charming, gifted Neil, was killed in Pales-
tine. The old man sank, bowed and broken under the blow.
Years of infirmity followed, and what to an Imperial spirit
must ever be a pang — powerlessncss. A month before the
Armistice he had a stroke. He lay unconscious or delirious
in a small house in Edinburgh when the bells of victory
rang through its streets. The Scots do not easily forget
those who have been their leaders. Spontaneously in the
joy of the hour a great crowd gathered with torches and
beset his door in thousands to share their triumph with
him. But he lay stricken, prostrate, paralysed.

He lived for ten years more, and all the qualities of his
mind resumed their play. He reached the age of eighty.
If he enjoyed life in a mild way from week to week he also
thought of Death as a deliverance. He made one state-
ment which should be helpful to all of us. For some time
he had received a special Insulin treatment. One day by
mistake the dose was doubled. He fell down in a total
stupor, and his attendants were sure the end had come. He
remained in this condition for many hours. His daughter.
Lady Crewe, summoned from Paris, reached his bedside the
next morning and to her relief and surprise found him alive
with his mental faculties restored. ‘ If this is Death,* he
said with the air of one who has been on a voyage and
made a discovery, ‘ it is absolutely nothing.*

He was happy and at peace : but his steps became more
weary. Although a religious man, a regular Church-goer,
and a frequent Communicant, he made one odd, character-
istic preparation for his departure. He bade his servant
buy a gramophone, and told him that when Death came
upon him, he was to make it play the Eton Boating Song.
This was actually done, though perhaps he did not hear it.
Thus he wished the gay memories of boyhood to be around
him at his end, and thus he set Death in its proper place
as a necessary and unalarming process.

20

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

One more trait must be recorded, his love of Scotland
and his pride in the Scottish race and in their history. His
words a quarter of a century earlier at the unveiling of the
memorial to the officers and men of the Royal Scots Greys
killed in South Africa may well form the epilogue to his
own life.

‘ Honour to the brave who will return no more. We
shall not see their faces again. In the service of their
Sovereign and their country they have undergone the sharp-
ness of death, and sleep their eternal sleep, thousands of
miles away in the green solitudes of Africa. Their places,
their comrades, their saddles will know them no more, for
they will never return to us as we knew them. But in a
nobler and higher sense, have they not returned to us
to-day? They return to us with a message of duty, of
courage, of patriotism. They return to us with a memory
of high duty faithfully performed ; they return to us with
the inspiration of their example. Peace, then, to their
dust, honour to their memory. Scotland for ever ! ’

THE EX-KAISER

THE EX-KAISER

No one should judge the career of the Emperor William
II without asking the question, ‘ What should I have done
in his position ? ’ Imagine yourself brought up from
childhood to believe that you were appointed by God
to be the ruler of a mighty nation, and that the inherent
virtue of your blood raised you far above ordinary mortals.
Imagine succeeding in the twenties to the garnered prizes,
in provinces, in power and in pride, of Bismarck’s three
successive victorious wars. Imagine feeling the magnificent
German race bounding beneath you in ever-swelling numbers,
strength, wealth and ambition; and imagine on every side
the thunderous tributes of crowd-loyalty and the skilled
unceasing flattery of courtierly adulation.

‘ You are ’, they say, ‘ the All-Highest. You are the
Supreme War Lord, who when the next war comes will
lead to battle all the German tribes, and at the head of the
strongest, finest army in the world will renew on a still
greater scale the martial triumphs of 1866 and 1870. It
is for you to choose the Chancellor and Ministers of State ;
it is for you to choose the chiefs of the Army and Navy.
There is no office great or small throughout the Empire
firom which you cannot dismiss the occupant. Each word
you utter is received by all present with rapture, or at
least respect. You have but to form a desire, and it is
granted. Limitless wealth and splendour attend your
every step. Sixty palaces and castles await their owner;
hun^eds of glittering uniforms fill your wardrobes. Should
you weary of the grosser forms of flattery, far more subtle
methods will be applied. Statesmen, generals, admirals,
judges, divines, philosophers, scientists and financiers stand

23

24 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

eager to impart their treasured knowledge and to receive
with profound gratification any remark upon their various
spheres which may occur to you. Intimate friends are at
hand to report day by day how deeply impressed this or that
great expert was with your marvellous grasp of his subject.
The General Staff seem awed by your comprehension of
the higher strategy. The diplomats arc wonder-struck by
your manly candour or patient restraint, as the case may
be. The artists gather in dutiful admiration before the
allegorical picture you have painted. Foreign nations vie
with your own subjects in their welcomes, and on all
sides salute the “ world’s most glorious prince.” ’ And
this goes on day after day and year after year for thirty
years.

Are you quite sure, ‘ gentle reader ’ (to revive an old-
fashioned form), you would have withstood the treatment?
Arc you quite sure you would have remained a humble-
minded man with no exaggerated idea of your own impor-
tance, with no undue reliance upon your own opinion,
practising the virtue of humility, and striving always for
peace?

But observe, if you had done so, a discordant note would
instantly have mingled with the clvUi£&ifi£j2faise. * We have
a weakling on the throne. Our War lA>rd is a pacifist. Is
the new-arrived, late-arrived German Empire with all its
tremendous and expanding forces to be led by a president
of the Young Men's Christian Association? Was it for
this that the immortal Frederick and the great Bismarck
schemed and conquered? Was it for this the glorious
leaders of the War of Liberation built round the citadel
of Prussia the gigantic fortress of Teutonic power? The
German states, so long divided, so long the sport of cross-
currents, have at last come together, and their strengUi is
overwhelming. With one blow they have humbled Aus-
tria, with another they have smitten France. In all the
Omtinent we have no equal Not any two countries cum-

THE EX-KAISER

^5

bined together could overcome us. And arc we then to be
limited to Europe? Is the old grey sea-wolf England to
enjoy the dominance of the world and of the oceans?

our persecutor, now cowering
before our united force, to enjoy, gather and expand a
splendid colonial empire ? Are we to be barred from
the Americas by a Monroe doctrine, warned off North
Africa by an Anglo-French agreement, and rigidly excluded
from China and the East by international concert? Is
Holland to thrive upon its rich East Indies? Is evbn little
Belgium to sprawl disreputable upon the vast Congo ?

* Granted we are late arrivals, granted we have been the
drudge and mercenary of Europe for centuries, now we
stand erect in our strength. Hard work, hard thinking,
organization, business, science, philosophy — where is our
equal? And behind all, if you wish it, there is steel and
flame and the trampling of innumerable hosts, who await
but a signal from on high. Are we to be denied our “ place
in the sun ? Are our expanding industries never to rest
upon German-owned oil, tin, copper, rubber and the like?
Is ail this to be purveyed to us by the English, the Americans,
the French and the Dutch? Is there to be no temperate
region in which Germans may found the schools of a more
learned Stuttgart, the exchange of a wealthier Berlin, or
the well-crunc hed parade-ground of a new Potsdam? We
are Isite, but we are going to have our share. Lay a place
at the table for the German Empire, now at last by the grace
of our trusty German God and its own strong army risen
in its splendour, or if not we will thrust you from your seats
and carve the joint ourselves ! At this supreme period in
our history, this bright dawn of our advancing power, is
jour War Lord to be a softie^ with bated breath and whis-
pering humbleness ” ? Not so ; he has sons. In one of
th^e perchance God has implantetf the spirit of a warrior-
kmg.* All this expressed by gleaming eyes and tightened
lips under a barrage of bows, salutes and clicking heels I

26 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

If the first lesson which was wrought into the fibre of
the young Emperor was his own importance, the second was
his duty to assert the importance of the German Empire.
And through a hundred channels where waters flowed with
steady force, albeit under a glassy surface of respect, William
II was taught that, if he would keep the love and admiration
of his subjects, he must be their champion.

Moreover there were the Socialists; bad people, dis-
affected that cared nothing for the greatness of

Germany, for the endurance of the monarchy, nor even of the
dyneisty. They did not cheer ; neither, except when under-
going their compulsory military service, did they salute.
They were against the aristocracy and the landed classes,
the true backbone of the nation. They had no regard
for the wonderful army by whose strength Germany had
gained her freedom and daily preserved her united life.
They voted steadily year after year against everything
the Kaiser cared for, and against all the classes and interests
which were his faithful servants and at the same time
his conscious masters. Besides, how rude they were!
How they mocked and derided ! What lies they told, and
worse still, what scandalous truths! Was he to be the
representative of their sentiments? Was he to quarrel
with all the strong forces that sustained his country and
his throne, in order to voice the opinions of those who
boasted that they had no country and that their first act
in power would be to make short work of thrones? Was
he to acquiesce in the foreigners’ view — also the view of
his Socialist enemies — while from every side the dominant
martial and virile forces urged him to be true, and down
through the centuries romance, tradition and ancestral
incantations inspired him to be bold ? Are you quite sure,
then, reader, in your heart of hearts, that subjected to
these pressures, feeing on this royal jelly, you would have
remained a mild, humdrum, conservative or libera] states-
man? I wonderl

THE £X*RAIS£R

27

When we measure the temptations and take account
of the circumstances, the rule of life which the Emperor
followed is remarkable. He is not incontinently to be
condemned. For thirty years he reigned in peace. For
thirty years his officers were taught to say — to foreigners
at any rate — that it was part of his religion to prevent war.
Opportunities came and went. Russia, the great counter-
balancing Colossus, was laid low in her war with Japan.
The danger of a war on two fronts vanished for three or
four years. The Franco-Russian alliance was less than a
scrap of paper. France was at his mercy. He reigned in
peace. Provocations were not lacking. Diplomatic defeat
was endured at Algeciras, and something very like humilia-
tion after Agadir. William II sought to pave his way
with his army and navy by words and gestures. ‘ The
mailed fist ’, ‘ glittering armour *, ‘ The Admiral of the
Atlantic ’. ‘ Hoc volo sic jubeOy sit pro ratione voluntas y he

wrote in the Golden Book at Munich.

‘ But no war ! ’ No long, crafty Bismarckian schemes, no
Ems dispatch. Just strut about and pose and rattle the
undrawn sword. All he wished was to feel like Napoleon,
and be like him without having had to fight his battles.
Surely less than this would not pass muster. If you are
the summit of a volcano, the least you can do is to smoke.
I So he smoked, a pillar of cloud by day and the gleam of
/[fire by night, to all who gazed from afar; and slowly and
surely these perturbed observers gathered and joined
themselves together for mutual protection.

It was my fortune to be the Emperor’s guest at the
German Army manoeuvres of 1906 and 1908. He was then
at the height of his glory. As he sat on his horse surrounded
by Kings and Princes while his legions defiled before him
in what seemed to be an endless procession, he represented
all ths^t this world has to give in material things. The
picture which lives the most vividly in my memory is his
entry into the city of Breslau at the b^inning of the

28

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

manceuvres. He rode his magnificent horse at the head
of a squadron of cuirassiers, wearing their white uniform
and eagle-crested helmet. The streets of the Silesian
capital were thronged with his enthusiastic subjects, and
lined, not with soldiers, but more impressively with thou-
sands of aged veterans in rusty black coats and stove-pipe
hats, as if the great past of Germany saluted her more
splendid future.

What a contrast twelve years would show! A broken
man sits hunched in a railway carriage, hour after hour,
at a Dutch frontier station awaiting permission to escape
as a refugee from the execration of a people whose armies
he has led through measureless sacrifices to measureless
defeat, and whose conquests and treasures he has squandered.

An awful fate ! Was it the wage of guilt or of incapacity?
There is, of course, a point where incapacity and levity arc
so flagrant that they become tantamount to guilt. Never- ^
theless history should incline to the more charitable view,
and acquit William II of having planned and plotted the
World War. But the defence which can be made will
not be flattering to his self-esteem. } It is, in short, rather
on the lines of the defence which the eminent French counsel
presented on behalf of Marshal Bazaine when he was
brought to trial for treason in the surrender of Metz:

‘ This is no traitor. Look at him ; he is only a blunderer.*

It is indeed impossible to exaggerate the fecklessness
which across a whole generation led the German Empire
in successive lyrgjies to catastrophe. The youthful sove-
reign who so light-heartedly dismissed Bismarck was soon to
deprive Germany of all the reinsurance and safety founded
upon an understanding with Russia. Russia was made to
move into the opposite camp. The voluminous intimate
correspondence between ‘ Willy * and ‘ Nicky *, all the
immense advantage of personal relationship, led only to
a Franco-Russian alliance, and the Czar of all the Russias
found it more natural to give his hand to the President

THE EX-KAISER

29

of a Republic whose national anthem is the ‘ Marseillaise
than to work with his brother-Emperor, his equal, his
cousin, his familiar acquaintance.

Next in fatal order came the estrangement of England.
Here even stronger ties of blood, of kinship and of history
had to be worn asunder. The work was lengthy and diffi-
cult, but William II accomplished it in good time. In
this he was stimulated alike by his admiration of English
life, style and customs, and by his personal jealousy of King
Edward the Seventh. For Queen Victoria, the august
Grandmamma, he always had respect; but for Edward
VII, whether as Prince of Wales or sovereign, he felt only
a strange and mischievous mixture of rivalry and con-
tempt. He wrote him presumptuous homilies about his
private life. His scornful arrows shot off at random, even
when they did not hit the target, were picked up and
carried thither. ‘ Where is your King now? ’ he asked one
day of an English visitor ; ‘ At Windsor, Sir ’ ; ‘ Ah, I
thought he was boating with his grocer.’* Thus family
connections which might have cemented national friendship,
became increasingly a cause of discord. Great Britain is
a constitutional democracy, and the personal feelings of the
monarch do not sway the policy of responsible administra-
tions. But graver offences were not lacking. The Kaiser’s
impulsive telegram to President Kruger upon the Jameson
Raid extorted such a growl from the British Lion as Ger-
many had never heard before. Lastly, there was the Navy.
The lord of the greatest of armies must also possess a navy
which even the strongest naval power would hold in awe.

Thus England, carrying with her the whole British
Empire, slowly inclined towards France, and under the
repeated shocks of Algeciras (1906), of the Austrian annex-
ation of Bosnia and Herzegovina (1908), and of Agadir
(1911), became tacitly, informally, but none the less effec-
tively, united with France and Russia. With England went
* Sir Thomas Lipton.

30 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

Italy. A secret clause in the original Treaty of the Triple
Alliance absolved Italy from participation in any war
against Great Britain. The Kaiser had already in 1902
given mortal offence to Japan.

After so many years of pomp and mediaeval posturing,
the master of German policy had stripped his country of
every friend but one, the weak, unwieldy, internally-torn
Empire of the Habsburgs. All that remained of Bismarck’s
network of securities had been destroyed; and upon the
other hand, an enormous latent coalition had been formed
in the centre of which burned the quenchless flame of
French revenge. Alsace ! It remained only for William II
to offer Austria, in the sultry atmosphere of July 1914, a
free hand to punish Serbia for the Sarajevo murders, and
then to go away himself for three weeks on a yachting cruise.

The careless tourist had flung down his burning cigarette
in the ante-room of the magazine which Europe had become.
For a while it smouldered. He returned to find the building
impenetrable with smoke — black, stifling, sulphurous smoke
— while darting flames approached the powder chamber
itself. At first he thought it would be easy to put it all
out. Confronted with the abject Serbian submission to the
Austrian ultimatum, he exclaimed, ‘ A brilliant diplomatic
triumph ; no excuse for war ; no need to mobilize ! ’ His
instinct at this moment was evidently to arrest the con-
flagration. Too late ! Faced with the imminent explosion,
the Army has taken charge. The terrified populace, the
reckless sightseers, the local fire brigades are driven helter-
skelter back by the strict and strong cordons of armed men
who are everywhere clearing the streets; and amid this
confusion the gilded pomp of personal rule, the obsequious
courtiers, the Imperial liveries, the easy triumphs of peace
are all swept indifferently away. Power and direction have
passed to sterner hands. The ungovernable passions of
nations have broken loose. Death for millions stalks upon
the scene. All the cannons roar.

THE EX-KAISER

31

The dreaded ‘ war on two fronts * is certain ; the defection
of Italy from the Triple Alliance is certain ; the hostility of
Japan is certain; the violation of Belgium is inevitable;
and the armies of the Central Empires are launched against
the little states upon their borders. But it is war on three
fronts now. The British ultimatum has arrived. The ocean
Empire, so long the ally of Germany, now joins the ^losing
circle of fire and steel as her most implacable foe. J

Then, indeed, did William the Second realize whither he
had led his country, and in a passion of grief and fear he
penned these striking, self-revealing words : ‘ So the famous
circumscription of Germany has finally become a complete
fact. ... A great achievement which arouses the admira-
tion even of him who is to be destroyed as its result.
Edward VII is stronger after his death than I am — I who
am still alive.*

The truth is that no human being should ever have been
placed in such a position. An immense responsibility rests
upon the German people for their subservience to the
barbaric idea of autocracy. This is the gravamen against
them in history — that, in spite of all their brains and
courage, they worship Power, and let themselves be led
by the nose. An hereditary monarchy without responsi-
bility for government is for many centuries the most
sagacious policy. In the British Empire this system has
attained perfection, the hereditary king having the pomp
and glory, while black-coated, easily-changed ministers have
the power and responsibility. But the union of both the
pomp and the power of the State in a single office exposes
a mortal to strains beyond the nature, and to tasks above
the strength, even of the best and greatest men. Some-
thing may be said for dictatorships, in periods of change
and storm; but in these cases the dictator rises in true
relation to the whole moving throng of events. He rides
the whirlwind because he is a pain ofit. is the mon-
strous child of emergency. He may wclf possess the force

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

32

and quality to dominate the minds of millions and sway
the coinrse of history. He should pass with the crisis. To
make a permanent system of Dictatorship, hereditary or
not, is to prepare a new cataclysm.

William II had none of the qualities of the modern dic-
tators, except their airs. He was a picturesque figurehead
in the centre of the world stage, called upon to play a
part far beyond the capacity of most people. He had little
in common with the great princes who at intervals through-
out the centuries have appeared by the accident of birth
at the summit of states and empires. His undeniable
cleverness and versatility, his personal grace and vivacity,
only aggravated his dangers by concealing his inadequacy.
He knew how to make the gestures, to utter the words,
^to strike the attitudes in the Imperial style. He could
stamp and snort, or nod and smile with much histrionic
art; but underneath all this posing and its trappings, was
a very ordinary, vain, but on the whole well-meaning man,
hoping to pass himself off as a second Frederick the Great.
There was no grandeur of mind or spirit in his composition.
No long policy of cautious statecraft, no calculation, no
deep insight, was his to bestow upon his subjects.

Finally, in his own Memoirs, written from the penitential
seclusion of Doom, he has naively revealed to us his true’
measure. No more disarming revelation of inherent trivi-
ality, lack of understanding and sense of proportion, and,
incidentally, of literary capacity, can be imagined. It is
shocking to reflect that upon the word or nod of a being
so limited there stood attentive and obedient for thirty
years the forces which, whenever released, could devastate
the world. It was not his fault; it was his fate.

Mr. Lloyd George, himself an actor although a man of
action, would, if he had had his way, have deprived us of
this invaluable exposure in order to gratify the passions of
victorious crowds. He would have redrape d this melan-
choly exile in the sombre robes of more" inafrmortal guilt

THE EX-KAISER

33

and of superhuman responsibility, and led him forth to a
scaffold of vicarious expiation. Upon the brow from, which
the diadem of empire had been smitten, he would have
set a crown of martyrdom ; and Death, with an all-effacing
gesture, would have re-founded the dynasty of the Hohen-
zollerns upon a victim’s tomb.

Such grim ceremonial was not to be accorded. Prosaic
counsels prevailed. The fallen Emperor lived, comfortable,
unromantic, safe. The passage of years lent dignity to his
retirement. His private virtues had for the first time
undistorted play. He lived to see the fierce hatreds of
the victors freeze into contempt and ultimately vanish in
indifference. He lived to see a great people, whom he had
conducted to frightful disaster, pass through the sternest
tribulations of defeat. He lived to receive at their hands
millions of money which Germany had the moral strength
to pay rather than be guilty of repudiation of lawful dues.
He survived in excellent health, exemplary conduct, and
happy domesticity, while the Fleet he had created with so
much unwise labour rusted at the bottom of a Scottish
harbour; while the proud Army, the terror of the world,
before which he had pranced so long in times of peace,
was dispersed and abolished; while his faithful servants,
officers and veterans, languished in penury and neglect.
It was perhaps a harder accountancy.

But he lived longer still; and Time has brought him
a surprising and paradoxical revenge upon his conquerors.
He has reached a phase when the greater part of Europe,
particularly his most powerful enemies Great Britain and
France, would regard the Hohenzollern restoration they
formerly abhorred beyond expression, as a comparatively
hopeful event and as a sign that dangers were abating.
If it were accompanied by constitutional limitations, it
would be taken throughout the world as an assurance of
peace abroad and toleration at home. This is not because
his own personal light burns the brighter or the more steadily,

G

34 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

but because of the increasing darkness around. The vic-
torious democracies in driving out hereditary sovereigns,
supposed they were moving on the path of progress. They
have in fact gone further and fared worse. A royal dynasty
looking back upon the traditions of the past, and looking
forward to a continuity in the future, offers an element
of security to the liberty and happiness of nations that
can never come from the rule of dictators, however capable
they may be. Thus, as the wheel swings full circle, the
dethroned Emperor may find ironical consolation by his
fireside at Doom.

When the final collapse came on the Western Front,
tempters had urged him to have an attack prepared, and
fall at the head of his last remaining loyal officers. He
has given us his reasons for rejecting this pagan counsel.'
He would not sacrifice the lives of more brave men merely
to make a setting for his own exit. No one now can doubt
that he was right. There is something to be said after all
for going on to the end.

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

Mr. Bernard Shaw was one of my earliest antipathies.
Indeed, almost my first literary effusion, written when I
was serving as a subaltern in India in 1897 never saw
the light of day), was a ferocious onslaught upon him,
and upon an article which he had written disparaging
and deriding the British Army in some minor war. Four
or five years passed before I made his acquaintance. My
mother, always in agreeable contact with artistic and
dramatic circles, took me to luncheon with him. I was
instantly attracted by the sparkle and gaiety of his con-
versation, and impressed by his eating only fruit and
vegetables, and drinking only water. I rallied him on the
latter habit, asking : ‘ Do you really never drink any wine
at all? * ‘I am hard enough to keep in order as it is,’ he
replied. Perhaps he had heard of my youthful prejudice
against him.

In later years, and especially after the war, I can recall
several pleasant and, to me, memorable talks on politics,
particularly about Ireland and about Socialism. I think
these encounters cannot have been displeasing to him, for
he was kind enough to give me a copy of his magnum opuSy
The Intelligent Woman's Guide to Socialismy remarking (sub-
sequently and erroneously), ‘ It is a sure way to prevent
you reading it.’ At any rate, I possess a lively image of
this bright, nimble, fierce, and comprehending being. Jack
Frost dancing bespangled in the sunshine, which I should
be very sorry to lose.

« « « «

One of his biographers, Edward Shanks, says of Bernard
Shaw : ‘ It is more important to remember that he began
to flourish in the ’nineties, than to remember that he was

37

38 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

born in Ireland ’ ; and it is true that Irish influences are
only found in him by those who are determined to find
them. The influence of the ’nineties, on the other hand, is
strong — not the pale influence of the decadents, but the
eager impulsion of the New Journalism, the New Political
Movements, the New Religious Movement. All the bubbling
and conceit of New Movements (in capitals) took hold of
him. For nine years he had been living in London under
the pinch of poverty and the sharper twinges of success
denied. His snuff-coloured suit, his hat turned (for some
obscure economy) back to front, his black coat blending
slowly into green, were becoming gradually known. But
in all these years he only earned, he says, of which
£5 were for an advertisement. Otherwise he depended on
his mother, and wrote, unrecompensed, a few mediocre
novels. He was still so obscure that he had to arrest and
startle even in the very first sentence of his articles. Jobs
slowly came in — musical criticism, dramatic criticism,
political squibs and paragraphs, but it was not until 1892
that his first play. Widowers^ Houses, appeared.

His early years in Ireland had given him a loathing of
respectability and religion — partly because they were the
fashionable butts of youth in those days, and Shaw has
always been a child of that age; and partly because his
family, either in an effort to be worthy of their position
as cousins of a baronet or to counteract their poverty,
dutifully upheld them both. Being dragged to Low Church
and Chapel, and forbidden to play with the tradesmen’s
children, gave him strong complexes from which he has
never recovered, and made him utter loud outcries against
‘ custom-made morality ’, against the tame conformity of the
genteel ; in short, against all that is nowadays summed up by
what Mr. Kipling called ‘ the fatted soul of things’. When at
length he emerged it was as a herald of revolt, a disconcerter
of established convictions, a merry, mischievous, rebellious
Puck, posing the most awkward riddles of the Sphinx.

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW 39

This energetic, groping, angry man of about thirty, poor,
the author of some unsuccessful novels and of some slash-
ing criticisms, with a good knowledge of music and paint-
ing, and a command of the high lights of indignation, meets
in middle age Henry George, and at once joins the Fabian
Society with eager enthusiasm. He speaks at hotels, and
at street corners. He conquers his nervousness. He colours
his style with a debating tinge which comes out in every
preface to his plays. In 1889 he shows for the first time a
little Marxian influence. Later on he throws Marx over for
Mr. Sidney Webb, whom he has always acknowledged to have
had more influence than anyone in forming his opinions.
But these sources are not enough ; something must be found
to replace religion as a binding force and a director. Mr.
Shanks says : ‘ All his life he has suffered under a handicap,
which is that he is shy of using . . . the name of God, yet
cannot find any proper substitute.* Therefore he must
invent the Life-Force, must twist the Saviour into a rather
half-hearted Socialist, and establish Heaven in his own
political image.

‘ Fine Art ’, declares our hero in another foray, ‘ is the only
teacher, except torture.’ As usual, however, with his doc-
trines, he does not submit himself to this master’s discipline.
He never trifles with unprofitable concerns, and a few years
later he writes : ‘ All my attempts at Art for Art’s sake
broke down; it was like hammering lod. nails into sheets
of notepaper.’ His versatile taste leads him to associate
himself with Schopenhauer, Shelley, Goethe, Morris, and
other diverse guides. In a moment when his critical
faculty is evidently slumbering, he even ranks William
Morris with Goethe !

Meanwhile he continues to attract all the attention he
can. ‘ I leave *, he says in Diabolonian Ethics^ ‘ the delicacies
of retirement to those who are gentlemen first and literary
workmen afterwards. The cart and trumpet for me ’ ; and
the trumpet, being used to arouse and shock, sends forth

40 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

a quantity of bombinating nonsense such as (in The Quint-
essence of Ibsenism) : ‘ There are just as good reasons for
burning a heretic at the stake as for rescuing a shipwrecked
crew from drowning ; in fact, there are better.’

It was not until the late ’nineties that real, live, glowing
success came, and henceforth took up her abode with Mr.
Bernard Shaw. At decent intervals, and with growing
assurance, his plays succeeded one another. Candida^
Major Barbara^ and Man and Superman riveted the attention
of the intellectual world. Into the void left by the annihila-
tion of Wilde he stepped armed with a keener wit, a tenser
dialogue, a more challenging theme, a stronger con-
struction, a deeper and a more natural comprehension.
The characteristics and the idiosyncrasies of the Shavian
drama are world-renowned. His plays are to-day more
frequently presented, not only within the wide frontiers of
the English language, but throughout the world, than those
of any man but Shakespeare. All parties and every class, in
every country, have pricked up their ears at their coming,
and welcomed their return.

The plays were startling enough on their first appearance.
Ibsen had broken the ‘ well-made play ’ by making it better
than ever : Mr. Shaw broke it by not ‘ making ’ it at all.
He was once told that Sir James Barrie had completely
worked out the plot of Shall We Join the Ladies ? before he
began to write it. Mr. Shaw was scandalized. ‘ Fancy
knowing how a play is to end before you begin it ! When
I start a play I haven’t the slightest idea what is going
to happen.’ His other main innovation was to depend for
his drama not on the interplay of character and character,
or of character and circumstance, but on that of argument
and argument. His ideas become personages, and fight
among themselves, sometimes with intense dramatic effect,
and sometimes not. His human Beings, with a few excep-
tions, arc there for what they arc to say, not for what they
are to be or do. Yet they live.

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW 4I

Recently I took my children to Major Barbara. Twenty
years had passed since I had seen it. They were the most
terrific twenty years the world has known. Almost every
human institution had undergone decisive change. The
landmarks of centuries had been swept away. Science has
transformed the conditions of our lives and the aspect of
town and country. Silent social evolution, violent political
change, a vast broadening of the social foundations, an
immeasurable release from convention and restraint, a pro-
found reshaping of national and individual opinion, have
followed the trampling march of this tremendous epoch.
But in Major Barbara^ there was not a character requiring
to be re-drawn, not a sentence nor a suggestion that was
out of date. My children were astounded to learn that
this play, the very acme of modernity, was written more
than five years before they were born.

« « # # «

F^w people practise what they preach, and no one less
so than Mr. Bernard Shaw. Few are more capable of having
the best of everything both ways. His spiritual home is
no doubt in Russia; his native land is the Irish Free State;
but he lives in comfortable England. His dissolvent theories
of life and society have been sturdily banished from his
personal conduct and his home. No one has ever led a more
respectable life or been a stronger seceder from his own
subversive imagination. He derides the marriage vow and
even at times the sentiment of love itself; yet no one is
more happily or wisely married. He indulges in all the
liberties of an irresponsible Chatterbox, babbling gloriously
from dawn to dusk, and at . the same time advocates the
abolition of Parliamentary institutions and the setting up
of an Iron Dictatorship, of which he would probably be the
first victim. It is another case for John Morley’s comment
upon Carlyle, ‘ the Gospel of silence in thirty volumes by Mr.
Wordy \ He promulgates in stern decree that all incomes
should be equalized and that anyone who has more than

42 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

another is guilty — unconsciously perhaps— of personal mean-
ness, if not fraud ; he has always preached the ownership of
all forms of wealth by the State ; yet when the Lloyd George
Budget imposed for the first time the slender beginnings
of the Super-tax, no one made a louder squawk than this
already wealthy Fabian. He is at once an acquisitive
capitalist and a sincere Communist. He makes his charac-
ters talk blithely about killing men for the sake of an idea ; ,
but would take great trouble not to hurt a fly.

He seems to derive equal pleasure from all these contrary
habits, poses and attitudes. He has laughed his sparkling
way through life, exploding by his own acts or words every
argument he has ever used on either side of any question,
teasing and bewildering every public he has addressed, and
involving in his own mockery every cause he hajs ever
championed. The world has long watched with tolerance
and amusement the nimble antics and gyrations of this
unique and double-headed chameleon, while all the time the
creature was eager to be taken seriously.

» « « * «

I expect that the jesters who played so invaluable a part
in the Courts of the Middle Ages saved their skins from
being flayed and their necks from being wrung by the im-
partiality with which their bladder-blows were bestowed in
all directions, and upon all alike. Before one potentate or
notable could draw his sword to repay a scathing taunt, he
was convulsed with laughter at the condition in which
his rival or companion was left. Everyone was so busy
rubbing his own shins that none had time to kick the
kicker. Thus the jester survived ; thus he gained access to
the most formidable circles, and indulged in antics of free-
dom under the dumbfounded gaze of barbarism and tyranny.

The Shavian cow— to change the illustration — has no
sooner yielded its record milking than it kicks the pail over
the thirsty and admiring milker. He pays an incomparable
tribute to the work of the Salvation Army, and leaves it a

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW 43

few minutes later ridiculous and forlorn. In John Bull's
Other Island we are no sooner captivated by Irish charm
and atmosphere than we see the Irish race liveried in hum-
bug and strait-jacketed in infirmity of purpose. The Liberal
Home Ruler, who so hopefully expected from Bernard
Shaw, justification and approval for his cause, found himself
in a trice held up as an object of satire rarely equalled
upon the stage. The intense emotions aroused in*our breasts
by the trial and martyrdom of Joan of Arc are immediately
" effaced by the harlequinade which constitutes the final act.
‘ The Red Flag ’, the international hymn of the Labour
Party, is dubbed by this most brilliant of Socialist intellectuals
‘ the funeral march of a fried eel ’. His most serious work
on Socialism, a masterly piece of reasoning, the embodiment
of the most solid convictions of Bernard Shaw’s long and
varied experience, a contribution to our thought upon which
three whole years, sufficient to produce half a dozen famous
plays, were lavished, is read with profit and amusement by
capitalist society and banned by Labour politicians.

Everyone has been ex^origited, every idea has been
rattled, and everything goes on the same as before. We
are in the presence of a thinker, original, suggestive, pro-
found; but a thinker who depends on contradiction, and
deals out thought as it flashes upon his mind without
troubling about its relation to what he has said before, or its
results upon the convictions of others. Yet, and it is the
essence of the paradox, no one can say that Bernard Shaw is
not at heart sincere, or that his life’s message has not been
consistent.

Certainly, we are all the better for having had the Jester
in our midst.

« ♦ « ♦ ♦

I was diverted some years ago by the accounts which were
published of his excursion to Russia. For his co-delegate
or comrade in the trip he selected Lady Astor. The choice
was happy and appropriate. Lady Astor, like Mr. Bernard

44 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

Shaw, enjoys the best of all worlds. She reigns on both
sides of the Atlantic in the Old World and the New, at
once as a leader of fashionable society, and of advanced
feminist democracy. She combines a kindly heart with a
sharp and wagging tongue. She embodies the historical
portent of the first woman Member of the House of
Commons. She denounces the vice of gambling in un-
measured terms, and is closely associated with an almost
unrivalled racing stable. She accepts Communist hospitality
and flattery, and remains the Conservative member for
Plymouth. She does all these opposite things so well and so
naturally that the public, tired of criticizing, can only gape.

It must have been with some trepidation that the chiefs
of the Union of Socialist Soviet Republics awaited the
arrival in their grim domains of a merry harlequinade.
The Russians have always been fond of circuses and travel-
ling shows. And here was the World’s most famous intel-
lectual Clown and Pantaloon in one, and the charming
Columbine of the capitalist pantomime.

Ah! but we must not forget that the object of the visit
was educational and investigatory. How important for
our public figures to probe for themselves the truth about
Russia: to find out by personal test how the Five Year
Plan was working. How necessary to know whether Com-
munism is really better than Capitalism, and how the broad
masses of the Russian people fare in ‘ life, liberty and the
pursuit of happiness ’ under the new regime. Who can
grudge a few days devoted to these arduous tasks ? To the
aged Jester, with his frosty smile and safely-invested capital,
it was a brilliant opportunity of dropping a series of discon-
certing bricks upon the corns of his ardent hosts.

Saint, sage, and clown; venerable, profound, and irre-
pressible, Bernard Shaw receives, if not the salutes, at least
the hand-clappings of a generation which honours him as
another link in the humanities of peoples, and as the greatest
living master of letters in the English-speaking w^orld.

JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN

JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN

One mark of a great man is the power of making lasting
impressions upon people he meets. Another is so to have
handled matters during his life that the course of after
events is continuously affected by what he did. Thirty
years have passed since Chamberlain was capable of public
utterance, nearly twenty-five have passed since he was
in his grave, and he has certainly fulfilled both these hard
tests. Those who met him in his vigour and hey-day are
always conscious of his keenly-cut impression; and all
our British affairs to-day are tangled, biased or inspired by
his actions. He lighted beacon-fires which are still burn-
ing; he sounded trumpet-calls whose echoes still call stub-
born soldiers to the field. The fiscal controversies which
Chamberlain revived are living issues not only in British but
in world politics to-day. The impetus which he gave to the
sense of Empire, in Britain and even more by repercussion
throughout the world, is a deep score on the page of History.

His biographer, Mr. Garvin, has devoted the leisure
thoughts of ten years to his task. He has evidently been
keenly alive to his responsibilities as the personal historian
of a remarkable man whose records have been entrusted to
his hands. Although an ardent admirer of ‘Joe’ Cham-
berlain and a warrior in his cause, Mr. Garvin has risen
above party feuds and faction and has laid before us in all
good faith and good will a monumental account of the life
and times of his hero. It is evident that he has produced
a standard work which every student of the later Victorian
period must wish not only to read but to place upon his
bookshelves. ♦

* Thi Lift of Joseph Chamberlain^ Vols. I-III. J. L. Garvin.

47

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

48

Chamberlain grew up in Birmingham in a period when
world politics were the well-preserved domain of Whig
and Tory aristocracies, and their counterparts in different
nations. He revealed himself as the first intruder from the
new democracy into these select but wide-ranging circles.
All the activities of his early life had their scene in his native
city. He had to make his living; he had to establish his
business ; he had to make his way. He was forty before he
sat in the House of Commons. No easy road of favoured
family or class preferment offered itself to him. He had
to fight every march forward for himself in the city where
he dwelt and among the innumerable jealousies which are
aroused locally by the first steps in success. He chose the
ground and the weapons necessary for such a situation.
Radicalism was his war-horse ; municipal politics the stirrup
by which he mounted to the saddle. Mayor of Birmingham,
master of its local needs ; a Super-Mayor attending to gas
and water, to public baths and wash-houses, to very early
town-planning improvement schemes: efficient far beyond
his compeers: forceful against all with whom he came in
collision: a fish obviously the largest and certainly the
fiercest in a pool comparatively small.

The career of this eminent man and strong actuator of
world movements is divided between the period when he was
making his way towards the world scene and the period when
he acted upon it. In the first he was a ruthless Radical and,
if you challenged him, a Republican ; in the second he was
a Jingo Tory and Empire Builder. All followed naturally
and sincerely from the particular pressures and environment
affecting an exceptional being at one stage or the other of
his life.

Thus we have Chamberlain the Radical Mayor — far
worse than any naughty Socialist^ of to-day — who ques-
tioned whether he could condescend to drive as Mayor
in the carriage which received the Prince of Wales (after
wards King Edward VII) on his visit to Birmingham, and

JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN 49

Chamberlain who popularized or promulgated the con-
ception of a vast Empire centring mainly upon the golden
circle of the Crown. Thus we have Chamberlain the most
competent, the most searching, the most entirely con-
vinced protagonist of Free Trade; and Chamberlain who
lighted the torch of Tariff Reform and Food Taxation. An
immense force was exerted with complete sincerity in
different phases in opposite directions. We have a splendid
piebald ; first black, then white ; or in political terms, first
Fiery Red, then True Blue.

The amount of energy wasted by men and women of first-
class quality in arriving at their true degree, before they
begin to play on the world stage, can never be measured.
One may say that sixty, perhaps seventy per cent, of all they
have to give is expended on fights which have no other
object but to get to their battlefield. I remember to have
heard Sir Michael Hicks Beach, high intellectual Tory Squire,
his life devoted to State service, thirty years a Minister of the
Crown, say in the Tariff Reform conflict of 1904, ‘ I was an
Imperialist when Mr. Chamberlain’s politics did not go
beyond Birmingham.’ It was true; in the setting of the
quarrel it was just; but it was not Chamberlain’s fault that
he had only arrived at the commanding view-points in later
life. He had meant to get there all the time, but the road
was long, and every foot of it contested.

First there is the tale of ‘ Radical Joe We see this
robust, virile, aggressive champion of change and overturn
marching forward into battle against almost all the vener-
able, accepted institutions of the Victorian epoch. We sec
him fighting now with a rapier, now with a bludgeon, to
establish quite new levels for the political and social status
of the mass of the people. In his stride he shrinks from
nothing and turns away from no antagonist. The monarchy,
the Church, the aristocracy, the House of Lords, the ‘ country
party’, London Society, the limited franchise, the great vested
interests and professions — all in their turn become his targets.

50

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

But this was no campaign of mere demagogy, of ranting
and denouncing, of pushing and brawling. It was the
hard, cold, deeply informed effort of a man who, though
removed by superior education and an adequate income
from the masses, nevertheless understood their lives, the
pressures under which they bent, the injustices and in-
equalities which rankled in their bosoms, the appetites and
aspirations to which they would respond; and who, with
heart-whole resolve, offered himself to them as a leader
whom nothing should daunt.

Consciously or unconsciously he had prepared himself for
this adventure by two separate sets of exercises and experi-
ences, both of which have often served men as complete
careers in themselves. He had built up with all the shrewd
briskness of business competition a new and valuable
industry capable of holding its own without favour or pro-
tection against all rivals, domestic or foreign. His business
success was as sharp, hard and bright as the screws it made.
He was able after twenty years of work as a Birmingham
screwmaker to retire from the firm of Chamberlain and
Nettlefold with 5(^120,000 of well-earned capital. Money
interested him no more. He had set himself free by his
own exertions. Henceforth he was clad in a complete
suit of armoured independence, and could confront face to
face the strongest in the land. Nothing is more character-
istic of Chamberlain’s life than the measured steps by which
he advanced towards expanding objectives. He always
looked back with pride upon his screw-making days. When
he came to speak in my support at Oldham in the full flush
of the ‘ Khaki ’ election of 1900, he said to me with a
twinkling eye, ‘ The first time I came here was to sell them
screws.*

But the second phase was also^ preparatory. He knew
Birmingham as a citizen and manufacturer. He became
its civic chief. No greater municipal officer has adorned
English local government. ‘ By God’s help,* he declared,

JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN 5I

‘ the town shall not know itself/ The clearance of slums,
the boons of pure water and the light and warmth of gas
produced swift effects upon the population. The death-
rate of many streets fell by half in a few years. In June,
1876, he could write: ‘The town will be parked, paved,
assized, marketed, gassed and watered, and improved — all
as the result of three years’ active work.*

These great achievements of founding an efficient British
manufacture and the regeneration of Birmingham were
completed by his fortieth year. In spite of all the friction
which is inseparable from business-thrust and drastic reform,
the soundness and thoroughness of his work in these two
different fields made a profound impression upon the city he
loved so well. Birmingham followed him through all the
shifts and turns of politics. It laughed at every charge of
inconsistency, and changed its own political allegiance and
objectives at his command.

From his entry into municipal and national politics in 1870
to his death on the eve of the Great War — a period of more
than forty years — the loyalty of Birmingham was unbroken.
His word was law. In him — whether extreme Radical or
extreme Jingo, Free Trader or Protectionist; the galvanizer
of Liberalism or its destroyer ; the colleague of Mr. Gladstone
or his most deadly opponent ; alike in days of peace or war —
the citizens of Birmingham saw only their Chief. And when
he died he transmitted his power in hereditary succession to
sons who have held it to this day in his name. This is
a record without compare in the political life of any of our
great cities. It carried into the crowded streets, clacking
factories and slums of Birmingham those same loyalties
which had heretofore thrived only in the Highland glens.
The romance of feudalism and the hereditary principle
were reproduced in novel trappings around the person of
a leader who had set out to abolish them both.

At forty-nine Chamberlain stood on the threshold of a
complete change. His outlook upon our national life,

52 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

which although always intense, had up to this point been
narrow and short, broadened and lengthened; and he
perceived that the remorseless unfolding of events had
proved contrary to the expectations both of his youth and
of his prime. The rest of his life was to be spent fighting
against the forces he had himself so largely set in motion.
In 1870 he had made a tremendous onslaught upon Forster’s
Education Bill. Repulsed by the Church and Mr. Gladstone
at the time, he lived to support — reluctantly, no doubt —
Balfour’s Education Act of 1902, which finally established
sectarian education as a vital element in English life. He
believed in his early phase that the British monarchy was
doomed; he lived to see it the linch-pin of the entire
Imperial structure to the building of which his later years
were devoted. As President of the Board of Trade he
delivered the most masterly condemnations of Protection
and food taxes which are upon record; his memory will
be ever associated with their adoption.

In wider spheres his policy led to results he had not fore-
seen. He was prime mover in the events which produced
the South African War, and there are some who say that
that war inaugurated an era of armaments and violence
which ultimately led to the supreme catastrophe. He was
foremost in the denial to Ireland of Home Rule, with the
result that a generation later a settlement was reached on
terms from which Mr. Gladstone himself would have recoiled
and after episodes among the most odious in living memory.

It will be difficult for the present generation to understand
the overpowering part which the Home Rule struggle
played in the lives of their fathers and grandfathers. The
insurgent Ireland that we now see merely as a group of
ill-mannered agricultural counties, outside the march of
British affairs, in the ’eighties bestrode the Imperial Parlia-
ment. Irish passions, Irish ideals, Irish leaders, Irish
crimes, swayed the whole structure of English public life.
The Irish Parliamentary party, with their wit, their elo-

JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN 53

quence and their malice, destroyed the ancient and char-
acteristically English procedure of the House of Commons.
They riveted world attention upon their actions. They
made and unmade Governments and statesmen. Like the
Praetorians of old, they put the Empire up to auction and
knocked it down to the highest bidder. Thus the Irish
problem was for more than twenty years the supreme issue.
It was the pivot around which the whole political life of
England revolved, and men rose or fell in power and fame
according as they were able to comprehend how it might
b^ solved or burked.

In this conflict Mr. Gladstone simply swept Mr. Chamber-
lain out of existence as a leader of Liberal and Radical
democracy. It was one of the strangest and also most
signifleant duels ever fought. The story opens with Cham-
berlain the champion of the Radical or, as we should now
call them, the Socialist masses. No one ever in our nlodern
history made so able an appeal to the ill-used, left-out
millions. His ‘ Unauthorized Programme ’ of the autumn
of 1885 was set forth in a series of speeches which by their
grip, their knowledge, their poise, their authority and their
challenge, excelled any constitutional incitement of which
our latter-day politics bear record. Mr. Lloyd George at
Limehouse went much farther in a period when travelling
was much easier, and many will remember how startled
they were by that. But Chamberlain had a tenacity of
argument, a thoroughness, a sharpness beyond the later and
far more creative reformer under the modern franchise.

Mr, Gladstone reigned in majesty over Liberal Britain.
Unapproachable in glamour, tradition, and oratory, he
towered at seventy-seven above the stormy scene. He
was a giant from a bygone epoch. He had little sympathy
with the practical demands of the working class for better-
ment. All those questions of social reform, of labom,
housing, health, light, pure water, aroused in him only a
cool, though benevolent interest. He dwelt upon a plane

54 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

of world issues, and he knew that the heart of Britain is
stirred by sentiment rather than by self-interest, by causes
rather than by gains. The great Liberal Party, of whose
soul he had so long been the interpreter, should not be
wrested from its allegiance by an upstart from Birmingham,
however competent, however popular, however adapted to
the New Age. So while Mr. Chamberlain talked bread-and-
butter politics to the working classes, the Grand Old Man
thought of generous liberating crusades abroad or across the
Irish Channel, and disdained the material side of things.

It was little enough that Chamberlain demanded. All
his reforms, then thought so shocking, have been achieved
and left far behind us in our hurried journey. It is now
the axiom of the Tory Party that the well-being of the
people, the happiness of the cottage home, is the first duty
of the ruler, once the preservation of the State is secured.
But in 1886 Mr. Gladstone beat ‘Joe ’ on his own Radical
ground. He beat him, and he broke him. He drove him into
the wilderness. Never again during the Grand Old Man’s
political career did Chamberlain hold public office. The
battle was grim, and though Mr. Gladstone conquered in
his party, he was mortally wounded in the Imperial sphere,
and he too was driven from power. In less than six months
Chamberlain brought the temporarily towering alliance of
Gladstone and Parnell to defeat in Parliament and disaster
in the constituencies. The Grand Old Man expelled the
rival from the Liberal household only at the cost of in-
augurating what was virtually twenty years of Tory and
Unionist rule.

Chamberlain never understood the Irish Nationalist
movement, and its personalities were always antipathetic
to him. All ambitious politicians wanted to establish
contacts with Parnell. The home of Captain O’Shea, an
obseme Irish member, presented tbe spectacle known as
‘ the eternal triangle Parnell was Mrs. O’Shea’s lover, and
O’Shea, alternately threatening and complaisant, basked

JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN 55

in the forced smiles and grudged political patronage of the
Irish leader. Chamberlain was for a long time in touch
with Parnell through the captain. Gladstone, when he
required to be informed, had a surer means of communica-
tion through the lady. Similarly Chamberlain offered Ire-
land extremely well-conceived schemes of local government
linked to the idea of a Federal system. Gladstone, when he
finally struck, flung down a ‘ Parliament on College Green \
In both cases he went to the heart of the business. But
Gladstone himself only saw part of the problem. He was
blind to the claims and cause of Protestant Ulster, He
refused to face the fact of Ulster resistance. He inculcated
an indifference to the rights of the population of Northern
Ireland which dominated the Liberal mind for a whole
generation. He elevated this myopia to the level of a
doctrinal principle. In the end we all reached together
a broken Ireland and a broken United Kingdom.

The struggle against Home Rule was none the less the
finest of Chamberlain’s career. As is usual in life, neither
side had a clear position. Chamberlain had tried hard to
woo Irish nationalism, and had been repulsed. Gladstone
had estranged Ireland by coercion, and won her back
again with a complete contempt of consistency. There were
ample grounds against both for taunts and mockery. Yet
at this distance of time, and with the tale told in all its
refinement, we can see that both men were natural and
sincere. Their points of view could never have been
adjusted. In Hartington’s pithy phrase, they ‘ did not
mean the same thing ’. Gladstone never knew Chamber-
lain’s power till he faced him in this deadly grapple. ‘ He
never spoke like this for us ’, he complained, after one of
Chamberlain’s merciless attacks upon the Home Rule Bill.
Often must Gladstone have reproached himself that he had
not taken more personal pains to carry his revolted lieutenant
with him. But we can now sec that it would have been no
use. At the root the split was flat and utter.

56 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

Between the winters of 1885 and 1886 Chamberlain sus-
tained a succession of staggering blows sucli as have rarely
fallen in our country to the lot of a public man. All the
political work of his life was swept away. All his hold
upon Radical democracy was destroyed. His most inti-
mate friends and comrades became henceforward his life-
long opponents. The political rupture with John Morley,
the tragedy of Charles Dilke, broke the circle not only of his
public but of his private life and thought. His friendship
with Morley had to be preserved across the gulf of party
antagonism . His friendship with Dilke was valiantly but
vainly extended above the abyss of personal disaster. He
had to make friends and work for long bleak years in a
narrow grouping with that same Hartington and those same
Whigs he had been about to drive from the Parliamentary
scene. He had to learn the language of those very Tories
against whom he had sought to rouse the new electorate.

The Irish were his most persistent foes. They added to
British politics a stream of hatred all their own and belong-
ing to centuries from which England has happily escaped.
They knew that more than any other man he had broken
Mr. Gladstone and frustrated Home Rule. The malignity
of their resentment was unsurpassed by anything I have
ever seen in this confused world. He retorted with scorn
and long, slow, patient antagonism. He made them feel
they had been right to hate him.

All these trials show Chamberlain at his best. His warm
heart, his constancy, his perfect self-control, his ‘ genius for
friendship as Morley years afterwards called it, all shine
amid these stresses. He was a faithful friend. No one
differed from him more, or resisted him more consistently,
than his comrade and colleague, John Morley. ' Home Rule,
Free Trade, the South African War, furnished ever fresh
causes of public strife between them. Yet they preserved
their private relation. There never was a year in which they
could not find opportunities of meeting, and when they met,

JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN 57

they talked with all the freedom and zest of old confederates.
Morley had an affection for him which the tumults of politics
and the pangs of blows and injuries given and taken in
the arena were powerless to affect. No such feeling ever
subsisted between Chamberlain and Gladstone. All Glad-
stone’s profound Tory instincts and upbringing ran counter
to this challenging figure from the Midlands and the
middle classes. The Grand Old Man did not like being
outbid in his appeal to the working masses. He admitted
him grudgingly to his Cabinet; he denied him the confi-
dences and close association which he offered to other far
less formidable colleagues. He never really understood the
personal force and power of ‘ Joe ’ until it was matched
against him in irreconcilable war. Perhaps it was just as
well. I often used to sit next to Mr. ‘ Jim ’ Lowther when
I first came into the House. He had sat in Cabinet with
Disraeli. He was a real survival of old times, the perfect
specimen of the Tory Diehard, and a great gentleman and
sportsman to boot. ‘ We have much to be thankful for ’, he
remarked one day. ‘ If those two had stuck together,
they’d have had the shirts off our backs before now.’

When the Home Rule Bill was killed, and the long Tory
reign began, Chamberlain found only one personal contact
with the ascendant regime. Lord Randolph Churchill had
led Tory Democracy against the whole seven seats of Bir-
mingham in the election of 1885. Crowds of working men,
denouncing ‘ Majuba ’ and ‘ the murder of Gordon ’, and
filled with patriotic enthusiasm, had confironted and almost
mastered the efficient thorough-paced Radicalism of Cham-
berlain’s domestic city. But in ’86 these hostile forces
became his main prop. Lord Randolph Churchill’s authority
among the Birmingham Tories was in the crisis absolute.
He wrote to Chamberlain (June 19) : ‘ We shall give all our
support to the Liberal-Unionists, asking for no return,
making no boast nor taunt. I will engage that all your
Unionist candidates have the full support of our party.’

58 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

Discipline was faultless. Throughout Birmingham, Tory
Democracy marched to the aid of all the men they most
abhorred, and returned by solid majorities those it had
been so recently the object of their political existence to
quell.

But a long harsh interval followed. From ’86 to *92
Chamberlain sat first with Hartington, then (after the
latter became Duke of Devonshire) alone, on the front
Opposition bench, amid the muttered reproaches of the
ruined Gladstonians and the implacable hatred of Irish
Nationalism. There he sat and kept the Unionist Govern-
ment in power. He never wavered. Lord Randolph’s
resignation, occurring almost at the outset, seemed to deprive
Chamberlain of his only link with the Cabinet. He was
an example of ‘ splendid isolation ’. The Salisbury Admin-
istration, through many blunders, plodded obstinately on.
Immense patience and self-control were required. Chamber-
lain was not found wanting. It was not till 1895 that he
entered upon his final and now most famous period as
Colonial Secretary and as the great Imperialist.

I have many vivid memories of the famous ‘Joe’. He
was always very good to me. He had been the friend,
foe, and friend again of my father. He was sometimes a
foe in my father’s days of triumph and sometimes a friend
in his days of adversity; but always there had subsisted
between them a quarrelsome comradeship and a personal
liking. At the time when I looked out of my regimental
cradle and was thrilled by politics, Mr. Chamberlain was in-
comparably the most live, sparkling, insurgent, compulsive
figure in British affairs. Above him in the House of Lords
reigned venerable, august Lord Salisbury, Prime Minister
since God knew when. Beside him on the Government
Bench, wise, cautious, polished, comprehending, airily fear-
less, Arthur Balfour led the House of Commons. But
‘ Joe ’ was the one who made the weather. He was the
man the masses knew. He it was who had solutions for

JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN 59

social problems ; who was ready to advance, sword in hand
if need be, upon the foes of Britain ; and whose accents
rang in the ears of all the young peoples of the Empire and
of lots of young people at its heart.

I must have had a great many more real talks with him
than I ever had with my own father, who died so young.
He was always most forthcoming and at the same time
startlingly candid and direct. The first I remeitiber was in
the summer preceding the outbreak of the South African
War. We were both the guests of Lady St. Helier, who had
a pleasant house upon the Thames; all the afternoon we
cruised along the river in a launch. He was most friendly
to me, talked to me as if I were a grown-up equal, and
afterwards — as Austen used to recount — gave me all kinds
of commendation. The negotiations with President Kruger
were then in an extremely delicate condition. I was
no doubt keen that a strong line should be taken, and I
remember his saying, ‘ It is no use blowing the trumpet for
the charge, and then looking around to find nobody follow-
ing.’ Later we passed an old man seated upright in a chair
on his lawn at the brink of the river. Lady St. Helier said,

‘ Look, there is Labouchere.’ ‘ A bundle of old rags,*
was Chamberlain’s comment as he turned his heeid away
from his venomous political opponent. I wais struck by
the expression of disdain and dislike which passed swiftly
but with intenseness across his face. I realized as by a
lightning-flash how deadly were the hatreds my agreeable,
courteous, vivacious companion had contracted and repaid
in his quarrel with the Liberal Party and Mr. Gladstone.
Nothing had been left unsaid by his former followers and
associates. ‘ Judas ’, ‘ traitor ’, ‘ ingrate ’, ‘ turncoat ’ — these
were the commonplaces of the Radical vilification by which
he was continually assailed.

Six years later, after he had split the Conservative Party
and convulsed the country by raising the Protectionist
issue, I had my last important conversation with him. I

60 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

was writing my father’s life, and wrote to him asking for
copies of letters in his possession. We were at that time in
fiiU political battle, and although I was of small consequence
I had attacked him with all the ferocity of youth, face to
face in Parliament and throughout the country. I was one
of those younger Conservatives most prominent in resisting
the policy on which he had set his heart and the last efforts
of his life. To my surprise he replied to my letter by sug-
gesting that I should come and stay with him for a night
at Highbury to see the documents. So I went, not with-
out some trepidation. We dined alone. With the dessert
a bottle of ’34 port was opened. Only the briefest refer-
ence was made to current controversies. ‘ I think you
are quite right,’ he said, ‘ feeling as you do, to join the
Liberals. You must expect to have the same sort of abuse
flung at you as I have endured. But if a man is sure of
himself, it only sharpens him and makes him more effective.’
Apart from this our talk lay in the controversies and person-
alities of twenty years before.

We sat up until two. ‘ Joe ’ produced diaries, letters
smd memoranda of the 8o’s, and as each fragment revived
memories of those bygone days, he spoke with an animation,
sympathy and charm which delighted me. I think it is a
pleasing picture of this old Statesman, at the summit of his
career and in the hardest of his fights treating with such
generous detachment a youthful, active, truculent and, as
he well knew, irreconcilable political opponent. I doubt
whether the English tradition of not bringing politics
into private life has often been carried much farther.

* * # * ♦

Wc have reached the period when Joseph Chamberlain’s
main effort is triumphant. Great Britain has at last joined
the rest of the world as a Protectionist country. No one
can suppose that unless there is a Vorld-wide change in
fiscal policy, wc shall recede from the new system; and
even if there were a great modification in all tariffs and

JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN 6l

barriers to trade, the idea of preference within the British
Empire would still assert its full force. It was indeed an
historic and harmonious event which carried his own son
as Chancellor of the Exchequer to the fulfilment of his
‘ task and mission. The elaborate measures of social reform,
the pensions and insurance systems which this century
has seen created in our island, the high taxation of wealth
enforced in different degrees all over the world but no-
where at such a pitch as in Great Britain — all these are
developments of the original impulse towards the material
betterment of the masses which in his first prime was so
strongly given by ‘ Radical Joe ’. But it was when as an
Imperialist he revived in the Tory Party the inspiration of
Disraeli and made the world-spread peoples of the British
Empire realize that they were one, and that their future
lay in acting upon this knowledge, that the life-work of
Chamberlain entered its widest and loftiest sphere. The
conception was not his, nor was he its earliest exponent;
but no man did more to bring it to reality. Here then
is the pedestal of what none can doubt is an enduring
fame.

SIR JOHN FRENCH

SIR JOHN FRENCH

The life of Lord Ypres, better known as Sir John French,
was devoted to a single purpose which was achieved to
an extent far beyond his utmost dreams. But, as is often
the case, the realization of his ambition brought disillusion-
ment. To command a great British army in a European
war was the task for which he had hoped and laboured
throughout a long, adventurous career. No day-dream
could have seemed more void of reality. Scarcely anything
seemed more improbable than that the days of Marlborough
and Wellington should repeat themselves, and that the
tiny British forces of the nineteenth century should ever
again set foot upon a Continent whose hosts, raised under
universal service, were counted by many millions ! It
was one of those events which are incredible until they
happen.

Originally, French was intended for the Navy; but a
physical inability to endure heights was fatal to a midship-
man’s career in the days when sailing-ships were still com-
mon. He was speedily translated into a regiment of Hus-
sars, and after the lapse of years, on the eve of the South
African War, was regarded as the best cavalry leader in the
Army. The dispatch of an expeditionary force to the Cape
saw him at the head of the cavalry arm at the beginning of a
war in which almost everything depended upon horsemen.

It was at this period that I first came in contact with
him. Perhaps even the expression ‘ came in contact ’ is
too strong; for we were not to meet personally for nearly
ten years. Like a good many other Generals at this time,
French disapproved of me. I was that hybrid combination
of subaltern officer and widely-followed war-correspondent

D 65

66

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

which was not unnaturally obnoxious to the military mind.
A young lieutenant hurrying about from one campaign to
another, discussing the greatest matters of policy and war
with complete assurance and considerable acceptance, dis-
tributing praise and blame among veteran commanders,
apparently immune from regulation or routine, and gather-
ing war experience and medals all the time — was not a
pattern to be encouraged or multiplied.

But to these general prejudices was added a personal
antipathy. My old colonel, General Brabazon, had for a
time conceived himself to be French’s rival in the cavalry
world. Although definitely surpassed some years before
the South African War began, he had received a brigade,
and had served under French in the difficult and anxious
operations around Colesberg in the winter of 1899. French
was severe and exacting. Brabazon, a much older man,
actually his senior in army rank, was self-willed and amazingly
outspoken. Friction began; quarrels arose; some, at
least, of Brabazon’s mordant sayings were mischievously
carried to French. Brabazon was deprived of his regular
brigade and sent to languish in command of the yeomanry.
I was known to sympathize with my former commanding
officer, and to be his close friend. I was, therefore, involved
in the zone of these larger hostilities.

Although I was with French’s column in many a march
and skirmish, and although I was intimate with several of
his staff, French completely ignored my existence and
showed me no sign of courtesy or goodwill. I was sorry for
this, because I greatly admired all I had heard of his skilful
defence of the Colesberg front, and his dashing gallop through
the Boer lines to the relief of Kimberley, and was attracted
by this gallant soldierly figure upon whom fell at this moment
the gleams of a growing fame. However, I had my own
job to do.

The numbness resulting from this South African frost
was not relieved until the autumn of 1908. I then attended

SIR JOHN FRENCH 67

some important cavalry manoeuvres in Wiltshire, which
French was conducting. He was now recognized as our
leading fighting commander in the event of war. I was
a Cabinet Minister in a Government with a large majority
and an assured tenure. He sent an officer to suggest a
meeting. We came together on more or less equal terms.
There began, almost from our first talk, a friendship which
continued sure and warm through all the violent ups and
downs the next ten years were to bring.

The growing tenseness of the European situation was con-
cealed from the public eye by the bland skies of peace andf
platitude. But the steady growth of the German Navy
began to cause profound uneasiness through widening
circles in the British Empire. Ever since the Algeciras
conference of 1905, technical relations — declared non-
committal in policy — had existed between the French and
British General Staffs. Both Sir John French and I were
fully informed upon these secret matters. We therefore
discussed the future and its potent menace in the freedom
of exclusive confidences. After the Agadir crisis of 1911, I
was sent to the Admiralty for the express purpose of raising
our naval precautions to the highest pitch of readiness and
— only less important— to establish effectual co-operation
between the Admiralty and the War Office for the tran-
sporting of the whole Army to France in certain contin-
gencies. When, about a year later, French became Chief
of the Imperial General Staff, our collaboration in grave
matters became the core of an active, happy personal
friendship. We interchanged all the information our
respective appointments afforded. He was repeatedly my
guest on board the Admiralty yacht Enchantress at the
man(jeuvres, exercises and important gunnery practices of
the Fleet. We discussed every aspect, then conceivable,
of a possible war between France and Germany and of
British intervention by sea or land.

1 remember the tale he told of his treatment at the German

68

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

cavalry manoeuvres of 1913. After the formidable display
of scores of squadrons wheeling and whirling in martial
exercise was completed, the Kaiser invited him to luncheon.
There, taking full advantage of his position as a Sovereign,
as a Field-Marshal and as a host, William II had thought
it right to say, ‘ You have seen how long my sword is; you
may find it is just as sharp ! ’ French, the servant of a
Parliamentary government, could only receive this outburst
in silence. He was a choleric man, and had great difficulty
in mastering himself.

*****

The Irish question now cut jaggedly across the British
political scene. The Liberal Government pursued, amid
violent party strife, its Home Rule policy for Ireland. And
Protestant Ulster prepared to resist exclusion from the
United Kingdom by armed force. At a certain moment
various military posts and magazines in the North were
thought to be in danger of seizure by the Orangemen. It
was proposed to reinforce the garrison of Ulster by strong
Imperial forces from the south of Ireland. There resulted
what has been called the Curragh mutiny. The officers,
wrongly conceiving that they were ordered to lead their
troops against the Ulstermen, with whom all their personal
and political sympathies lay, demanded in large numbei*s
to resign their commissions. The men of course stood by
their officers. A violent cleavage took place between the
Government and the Army. French, dominated by his
European preoccupations, had stood staunchly by the
Government and by his Secretary of State, Colonel Seely.
The crisis subsided as soon as its horrible character was
realized upon all sides. But the Secretary of State, en-
tangled in the details of the dispute, resigned, and the Chief
of the Imperial General Staff, grievously smitten in the
opinion of his military colleagues,«^felt bound to follow him.
This was at the end of May, 1914.

The future now seemed completely closed to French. It

SIR JOHN FRENCH 69

is not often that a soldier regains the highest position in
time of peace. The vacancy is filled; the lesser gaps are
swiftly closed ; a new man reigns ; new loyalties are created.
And in addition, there was a fierce current of military pre-
judice among the higher military officers against a General
who had identified himself so largely with the Liberal
administration. It was spread about in all influential
quarters that he had no wish for further command; that
he was tired out, and that he was out of touch with the
sentiment of the Army. He was at this time nearly sixty
years of age. This was his nadir.

About this time and amid these political eruptions, I was
preparing for the test mobilization of the Fleet which had
been fixed for the middle of July, 1914. The Fleet had
never been fully mobilized before, and I had convinced my
advisers at the Admiralty that a practical overhauling of
the machinery and procedure would be of more value to
the Navy than the usual extensive manoeuvres at sea. I
had been inspecting the great shipbuilding works of the
Tyne, and I asked French to join me. Early in July we
cruised down the East Coast, visiting various naval estab-
lishments on our way to Portsmouth, where the eight squad-
rons of the Battle Fleet, sixty-four battleships with their
cruisers and flotillas, were already assembling. For a week
we were alone, except for a few young officers. The General
was in the depths. He was sure his military career was at
an end. Full of fire and vigour, he was constrained to face
long, empty years of retirement and idleness. If the great
war ever came, he would be on the shelf! He was very
dignified about it all, and his great personal good temper and
simplicity emerged serenely. I remember that we scrambled
ashore from a picket-boat before daybreak one morning to
watch the first trials of a circular aeroplane upon which a
young friend of mine. Sir Archibald Sinclair, had spent a
great deal of money. I remember, too, long walks with
the General up and down the esplanade at Deal. My im-

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

70

pression of French, for all his composure, was that he was
a heart-broken man.

Now, observe how swiftly Fortune can change the scene
and switch on the lights ! Within a fortnight of this melan-
choly voyage Sir John French realized his fondest dream.
He was Commander-in-Chief of the best and largest army
Britain had ever sent abroad, at the beginning of the greatest
war men have ever fought ! When next I saw him, it was at
the momentous Council of August 5, 1914, when, war having
been declared upon Germany, it was decided to send the
whole Expeditionary Force to France under his command.
And ten days later, this great operation having been achieved
by the Admiralty punctually and safely, he came solemn,
/radiant and with glistening eye to take leave of me before
embarking upon the swift vessel which waited at Dover.
But the end of war is sour !

« « # * «

French was a natural soldier. Although he had not the
intellectual capacity of Haig, nor perhaps his underlying
endurance, he had a deeper military insight. He was not
equal to Haig in precision of detail; but he had more
imagination, and he would never have run the British Army
into the same long-drawn-out slaughters.

The first shock of the War was drama at the highest
pitch of intensity. Sir John French fell out very early with
General Lanrezac, who commanded the Fifth and the left-
most of all the French armies. Lanrezac was a remarkable
officer, a master of military science on the largest scale. For
years he had instructed at the French Staff College. He
was one of those Frenchmen who have an almost physical
dislike, bom of centuries of tradition, for the English. He
was contemptuous of the British Headquarters, and seemed
to think it a favour that their puny army should be allowed
to come to the aid of France. His manners, not only to his
Allies, but to his own staff, were odious, and led to his speedy
ruin. Nevertheless, Lanrezac, from the very first, realized

SIR JOHN FRENCH 7I

the folly of Joffre’s ‘ Plan XVII He saw the enormous
right-handed movement of the Germans through Belgium,
and that it would become dominating. His intelligence
maps betrayed day by day the development of this pro-
digious turning operation. He cried aloud and incessantly
to G.Q^.G. (Grand-Quartier-General) from the first week in
August, that his Army should be moved to the Sambre and
the Meuse, and that he should be reinforced to the utmost
possible extent. At length, he was allowed to move his army
northwards, and for a week they marched. He arrived in the
neighbourhood of Charleroi. Here, he gave his left hand to
the British, and stood with them in the path of the invasion
through Belgium against odds of about two to one.

Sir John French, who also reached the area by forced
marches, had no thought but to co-operate with him.
General Spears, then only a lieutenant, in his brilliant book,
Liaison igi4y has lighted this scene for us. The British
Commander-in-Chief went to pay his respects to the High
Command of the Fifth Army. French’s French was the limit
of British effort in that language. In harmony with the
eighteenth-century English fashion, he pronounced French
words in the most brutal English way. He used to speak
of ‘ “ Compiayny ” at the junction of the “ Iny ” and the
“ Weeze ” At this moment a point of strategic importance
was the passage of the Meuse at Huy. Sir John opened
the conversation of ceremony by asking whether Lanrezac
thought the Germans would try to force the Meuse at Huy.
Huy was one of the worst names he could have attempted to
pronounce. Spears points out that it can be achieved only
by a whistle! Sir John let it go as ‘Hoy’. Lanrezac,
harassed by his profound knowledge of the general situation,
could not contain his scorn at such clumsy ignorance. When
Sir John’s question was at length translated to him in
intelligible terms, he replied insultingly, ‘ All no, the
Germans are only coming to the Meuse to catch the fishes 1 ’
Sir John, who had seen a great deal of active service, and

72 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

had five divisions and a cavalry division of professional
soldiers in his hand, understood at once that he was being
treated with rudeness. On this basis, the extended and
severe battles of Charleroi and Mons were fought, side by
side, by the two Commanders.

The weight of the German masses in the wooded, broken
country, where the French artillery could have so little play,
smashed the front of the Fifth Army. Lanrezac, with
clairvoyant comprehension, ordered an immediate and con-
tinuous retreat. That he saved the situation by his retreat
is unquestionable; but the British Expeditionary Army
might well have been rounded up or destroyed. The
British, who had held their own in the Battle of Mons, found
themselves in peril of being turned on both flanks. Sir
John French has naively told us in his memoirs that he had
a momentary temptation to throw himself into Maubeuge,
pending the hoped-for restoration of the Front. There lay
the fortress, with its wide encirclements of wire and trenches.
Sir John tells us that he was saved from this by remember-
ing Hamley’s dictum : ‘ The Commander of a retiring

army who throws himself into a fortress, acts like one
who, when the ship is foundering, lays hold of the anchor.’
Of course, he never seriously contemplated so absurd
a step. On the contrary, he also made off as fast as he
could towards Paris. His orders from home made him
independent, and encouraged him, if in doubt, to seek the
sea coast. He felt that he commanded the only trained
body of troops that the Empire possessed, and that if these
were lost, there would be no nucleus on which to build the
new armies. However, he conformed as well as he could to
the French retreat, and he looked forward amid the confusion
to a right-about-turn battle to save Paris. He meant to
keep the British Army alive for this last effort.

Arrived in the neighbourhood of Paris, impressed by the
imminent fate of the capital, he appealed to Joffre to stand
and fight, and promised to do the same. This was also

SIR JOHN FRENCH 73

Joflre’s intention, but the day and the place were undecided.
Sir John received a blankly negative reply, and various
towns far to the south of the Seine were mentioned by the
French G.Q^.G. as points towards which the British Army
should retreat. He was not even told ‘ we are looking for
the chance ’. Then, when the moment came which Joffre
selected, or which Gallieni, Governor of Paris, forced upon
him, the British Army was suddenly called upon to turn.
Sir John French did not immediately rid himself of the
conviction that the French Armies were retreating behind
Paris, and did not mean to make a stand in its defence. All
we can say is, ‘ No wonder! By this time, Lanrezac, who
had fought a stiff battle at Guise, and had conducted his
/own retreat with celerity and skill, was removed from his
command, as one might say, by general consent. He went
home with his high strategic comprehension, his bad
manners, and his grievance.

Then came rather raggedly , but none the less magnificently,
the second great effort of France. This was the world-
decisive Battle of the Marne, so-called, although it extended
from Paris to Verdun, and round the corner to Nancy — a
front of over 250 miles. Once he was convinced of Joffre’s
resolve, Sir John, who had been reinforced from home,
wheeled round, and plunged forward. As it happened, the
British Army drove right into the gap which had opened
between the two German Armies of their swinging right-
wing. The advance of the British Army across the Marne
and into this gap, decided the immense battle which saved
Paris. With comparatively little fighting, the German
right-wing was pierced, and the whole line of invading
armies recoiled thirty miles to defensive positions. This
was one of the greatest military events in all history, and
Sir John French is entitled to his share of the glory.

There followed ‘ the race to the sea \ We had procured
from the French Gk)vernment the transference of our Army,
which, continually fed, now numbered seven or eight divi-

74 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

sions and a numerous cavalry, to the sea-flank. I have
been told by some of the best French generals (especially
General Buat, afterwards Chief of the French General Staff)
that a little more audacity in thrusting forward the French
left hand, would have swept the Germans out of a great
part of their conquests. It was in this sense that the
retention of Antwerp became of high importance; for
then, the line might have settled down Antwerp-Ghent-
Lille. Certainly, Sir John French bid high and strove
hard for this. Detraining in the neighbourhood of Saint-
Omer, he pushed on towards Armentieres and Ypres. But
the Germans had prepared their counter-stroke. Four
resei*ve army corps of youthful, but not untrained volun-
\ teers, strongly encadred, were hurled upon the British
advance. Sir John, in the truest conception of war, now
ran tremendous risks. He spread his front to a desperate
extreme. With his right he fought at Armentieres; with
his left he struggled towards Menin. A series of cruel,
heartrending struggles ensued. We were reduced at times
to nothing but a line of rifle-pits, held by hard-bitten men,
and batteries starved of ammunition. But the line proved
impenetrable, and the four young German Army Corps
ibit the dust. Very high in the annals of the British Army
must this grim struggle stand. And no one, if Generals can
give anything to modern battles, gave more to it than the
British Commander-in-Chief.

Merciful winter descended on the tortured Front, and
exhaustion congealed both armies into trench warfare. The
supreme episode of French’s life was over. The rest of his
command was spent in vain attempts to break the steel
barrier of wire, machine-guns and artillery, without either
the numbers or the apparatus necessary for an offensive.
Foch, in March, 1915, lost 100,000 Frenchmen in Artois.
Sir John, in April and May, lost ^20,000 British at Neuve-
Ghapelle and Festubert. But his culminating repulse was
the Battle of Loos. This was forced upon Sir John French

SIR JOHN FRENCH 75

by Joffre. It was to be the companion in the north of the
attack by fifty French divisions in Champagne.

I had been very intimate with French all through the year,
and always laboured to make things go right between him
and Kitchener. I implored him not to agree to this autumn
offensive of 1915. His own judgment was the same. I
argued against the battle in the Cabinet, till I was suppressed.
There never was any means of breaking the German fortified
front until we had overwhelming heavy cannon, masses of
shells, a far greater superiority of infantry, and, of course,
the engine for that particular job — the tank. But nothing
Wailed against the will-power of Joffre and the outlook of
the French Staff. Brutal losses, costing perhaps a quarter
of a million casualties, were sustained in the last fortnight
of September by the French, and, in their proportion, by the
British Army. In my small way, I tried my best to stop it.

I warned Sir John French that the new battle would be
fatal to him. It could not succeed, and he would be made
^the scapegoat of insane hopes frustrated. So it all fulfilled
itself.

After these disasters in 1915 wc were in the trough of the^
war. The British Government had decided to abandon the
Dardanelles. I had resigned my seat at the War Council and
set out to join my yeomanry regiment in France. Ministers
who resign are always censured ; those who cannot explain
their reasons are invariably condemned. I certainly could
not attempt any explanation at that juncture. I crossed
the Channel on the leave-boat, studying the varied throng
in which were men of every regiment in the Army, going
back to the trenches, just as they had come out of them —
careless figures, jovial figures, haggard figures — a bustling,
good-humoured throng of men. I had not heard from
French for some time. I had been, as I have mentioned,
a severe critic of the Battle of Loos. I knew he had been
hurt by my strenuous disapproval in Council of this plan

76 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

to which he had been committed by the French command.
I did not worry. When you get to the end of your luck,
there is a comfortable feeling you have got to the bottom.
However, when the ship arrived at Boulogne quay, and we
all filed down the gangway on to the tormented French soil,
the Port landing-officer said to me : ‘ We have orders for
you to go to the Commander-in-Chief; and there is a car
here from G.H.Q^.’

A few hours later I dined with Sir John French at the
Chateau of Blondecq in which, at that time, he resided.
Those who have not served in the Great War, or at any rate
in the Army, will hardly comprehend the enormous pre-
cipices which range upward tier upon tier, from a regimental
officer to the Commander-in-Chief of many army corps.
French brushed all this aside. He treated me as if I were
still First Lord of the Admiralty, and had come again to
confer with him upon the future of the war.

After that he told me about his own position. He said,
‘ I am only riding at single anchor.’ He described the
various pressures which were being applied to him to induce
him to relinquish his command without a row. (In Eng-
land, considerable efforts are usually made to get things
that have been decided on, done without a row.) I had not
been aware when in the Cabinet that these processes had
gone so far; but from what he told me I realized the
situation.

My closing picture is his final day as Commander-in-Chief.
He brought me back from the front, and we drove together
during all the daylight hours, from army to army and from
corps to corps. He went into the various headquarters and
said good-bye to his Generals. I waited, an unofficial
personage, in the car. We lunched out of a hamper excel-
lently contrived, in a ruined cottage. His pain in giving up
his great command was acute. Ha would much rather have
given up his life. He had, however, a firm belief in the
immort^ity of the soul: if you looked over the parapet,

SIR JOHN FRENCH 77

he thought, and got a bullet through your head, all that
happened was that you could no longer communicate with
your fellows and comrades. There you would be ; knowing
(or perhaps it was only seeing) all that went on ; forming
your ideas and wishes but totally unable to communicate.
This would be a worry to you, so long as you were interested
in earthly affairs. After a while your centre of interest
would shift. He was sure new light would dawn; better
and brighter at last, far off, for all.

If, however, you looked over the parapet on purpose, you
would start very ill in the new world.
jlt poured with rain all day, and this conversation is
imprinted in my memory.

JOHN MORLEY

JOHN MORLEY

John Morley was a Victorian. He grew and flourished
in the long era of peace, prosperity and progress which
Mled Queen Victoria’s famous reign. This was the British
^ntonine Age. Those who were its children could not under-
stand why it had not begun earlier or why it should ever
stop. The French Revolution had subsided into tran-
quillity; the Napoleonic Wars had ended at Waterloo;
the British Navy basked in the steady light of Trafalgar,
and all the navies of the world together could not rival
its sedate strength. The City of London and its Gold
Standard dominated the finance of the world. Steam
multiplied the power of man; Cottonopolis was fixed in
Lancashire; railroads, inventions, unequalled supplies of
superior coal, abounded in the island ; the population
increased ; wealth increased ; the cost of living diminished ;
the conditions of the working classes improved with their
expanding numbers.

Englishmen felt sure that they had reached satisfactory
solutions upon the material problems of life. Their political
principles had stood every test. All that was required was
to apply them more fully. Liberty of the Press and of
the person, freedom of trade, extension of the franchise, the
perfecting of representative Government and of the Parlia-
mentary system, the sweeping away of privileges and abuses
— all to be peacefully and constitutionally accomplished —
were the tasks before them. Statesmen, writers, philo-
sophers, scientists, poets, all moved forward in hope and
buoyancy, in sure confidence that much was well, and that
all would be better.

8i

82

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

The tasks were inspiring and the risks were small. In
a land,

‘ Where Freedom slowly broadens down

From precedent to precedent

there was an appointed place for the active Radical reformer.
He need not fear the repression of autocratic power, nor the
violence of revolutionary success. The world, it seemed,
had escaped from barbarism, superstition, aristocratic
tyrannies and dynastic wars. There were plenty of topics
to quarrel about, but none that need affect the life or found-
ations of the State. A varied but select society, observing
in outward forms a strict, conventional morality, advanced
its own culture, and was anxious to spread its amenities
ever more widely through the nation. A sense of safety,
a pride in the rapidly-opening avenues of progress, a con-
fidence that boundless blessings would reward political wis-
dom and civic virtue, was the accepted basis upon which
the eminent Victorians lived and moved. Can we wonder?
Every forward step was followed by swiftly-reaped advan-
tages: the wider the franchise, the more solid the State;
the fewer the taxes, the more abundant the revenue: the
freer the entry of goods into the island, the more numerous
and richer were the markets gained abroad. To live^
soberly then, to walk demurely in the sunshine of fortune,
to shun external adventures, to avoid entangling commit-
ments, to enforce frugality upon Governments, to liberate
the native genius of the country, to let wealth fructify in
the pockets of the people, to open a career broadly and
freely to the talents of every class, these were the paths so
clearly marked, so smooth, so easy of access, and it was
wise and pleasant to tread them.

Morley was the intellectual child of John Stuart Mill.
He sat at his feet and fed upon his wisdom. ‘ In such ideas
as I have about political principles,’ he said in his Indian
Budget Speech of 1907, ‘ the leader of my Federation was
Mr. Mill. There he was, a great and benignant lamp of

JOHN MORLEY 83

\yisdom and humanity, and I and others kindled our modest
s^ush-lights at that lamp.’ To me, when I first saw it, John
Morley’s modest ‘ rush-light ’ had become a very bright ray.
I admired it without seeking to borrow its flame. I ap-
proached near enough to read by its light, and to feel its
agreeable, genial, companionable warmth. From 1896 on-
wards I began to meet him and to delight in his company.
Rosebery was often more impressive in conversation ;
Arthur Balfour always more easy and encouraging ; Cham-
berlain more commanding and forceful; but there was a
rich and positive quality about Morley’s contributions, and
yi. sparkle of phrase and drama which placed him second to
none among the four most pleasing and brilliant men to
whom I have ever listened. His manner and aspect were
captivating. His art in private was to understand the
opposite point of view, and to treat it with so much sympathy
and good humour, while adhering to his own, that the hearers
were often led to believe themselves in agreement with him,
or at any rate that the remaining differences were small
and not final. This sometimes led to disappointment; for
Morlcy, though in conversation he paraded and manoeuvred
nimbly and elegantly around his own convictions, offering
his salutations and the gay compliments of old-time war to
the other side, always returned to his fortified camp to sleep.
*****

As a speaker, both in Parliament and on the platform,
Morlcy stood in the front rank of his time. There was a
quality about his rhetoric which arrested attention. He
loved the pageantry as well as the distinction of words,
and many passages in his speeches dwell in my memory.
As may be guessed, he was better on a set occasion than in
/the movement of debate. He pleaded unpopular causes
with a courage and sincerity which commanded the respect
of the House. His gifts of intellect and character were
admired on all sides. Sometimes in my day, when he was
already ageing, his vitality flagged under the strain of a

84 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

long speech, and he was then in danger of losing the House.
But I remember well the fierce, moving phrases of his
indictment of the Boer War in 1901. ‘Blood has been
shed. Thousands of our women have been made widows;
thousands of children are fatherless. Millions of wealth,
accumulated by the toil and skill of men, have been flung
down the abyss. . . . The expenditure of 150,000,000 has
brought material havoc and ruin unspeakable, unquenched
and for long unquenchable racial animosity, a task of political
reconstruction of incomparable difficulty, and all the other
consequences which I need not dwell upon of this war, which
I think a hateful war, a war insensate and infatuated, a
war of uncompensated mischief and of irreparable wrong.’

However, we were destined to find a better outcome than
he foresaw, and to work together for it.

When Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman’s Government was
formed in December, 1905, he would, I dare say, have liked
to become Foreign Secretary. Before the election, which
did not take place till the New Year, I went to see him in
the small but highly ornamented circular room at the India
Office. I found him despondent. ‘ Here I am ’, he said,
‘ in a gilded pagoda.’ He was gloomy about the forth-
coming election. He had had too long experience of defeat
to nourish a sanguine hope. He spoke of the innate strength
of the Conservative hold upon England. I talked to him
encouragingly. ‘ It will be a great majority — one of the
greatest ever known.’ And so indeed it proved.

At the India Office he was an autocrat and almost a
'martinet. After several years, he shaped the first modest
proposals for Indian representative government, now known
as the ‘ Morley-Minto Reforms ’. He, the ardent apostle of
Irish self-government, felt no sense of contradiction in
declaring his hostility to anything like ‘ Home Rule for
India ’. He went out of his way to challenge Radical opinion
on this issue, and in an impressive speech, he warned his
own supporters of the perils of applying to the vast Indian

JOHN MORLEY 85

scene the principles which he applauded in Ireland and in
South Africa. ‘ There is I know a school of thought who
say that we might wisely walk out of India, and that the
Indians can manage their own affairs better than we can.
Anyone, who pictures to himself the anarchy, the bloody
chaos that would follow, might shrink from that sinister
decision.’ And again : ‘ When across the dark distances,
you hear the sullen roar and scream of carnage and con-
fusion, your hearts will reproach you with what you have
done.’ All his thought and outlook made a strong impres-
sion upon me. But times have changed, and I have lived
to see the chiefs of the Conservative Party rush in where
Radical Morlcy feared to tread. Only time can show
whether his fears were groundless.

His literary output was very large. He earned his living
by his pen. His celebrated essay on ‘ Compromise ’ was
for many years a guide to Liberal youth, and its insistence
on the duty of independent individual judgment in every
sphere of life and in respect of every creed and institution,
is a healthy tonic in these days of totalitarian heresy. He
was a formidable critic and reviewer. He edited the series
of ‘ Twelve English Statesmen ’, of which Rosebery’s Pitt
was one. Amid the general chorus of praise which acclaimed
this work, Morley’s comment strikes a different note: —

‘ Nothing can be more agreeable to read, or more brightly
written, in spite of a certain heaviness, due partly to e.x.cess
of substantives, and partly to too great a desire to impress
not only the author’s meaning, but his opinion.’ Tart!

Another and larger series was ‘ English Men of Letters ’,
to which he himself contributed Burke, His friendship
for my father, in whose company he had delighted, in-
duced him to turn a kindly eye upon the proof-sheets of
my Life of Lord Randolph Churchill, Like Lord Rosebery,
he took a keen interest in this record, and I have a file
of long and deeply-instructive letters of comment and
suggestion from him upon it, all written in his magnificent

86

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

handwriting. His own works fill a good shelf in any well-
chosen modern library. His Life of W, E, Gladstone is not
only a splendid biography, but also the most authoritative
contemporary account of the struggle for Irish Home Rule.
As such, it will hold a permanent place in our annals as
well as in our literature. His Cromwell^ Cobden and Walpole
are contributions of the highest quality. He had dived
deeply into the history of modern France from the days
of the Encyclopaedists and the Revolution which they
heralded. Diderot, Voltaire and Rousseau ‘ arc, and will
probably remain,’ says General Morgan in his agreeable
tribute,* ‘ the most penetrative, the most sympathetic,
and the best-informed studies in the English language.’

‘ His style ’, says the same writer, ‘ is austere. It has more
grace than charm; it diffuses light but it never generates
heat. . . . He is the most impersonal of all our great
writers of prose.’ It is indeed true that the colour which
he allowed himself in rhetoric was only sparingly used in
his writings.

He shared my father’s trust in the English people. When
I, one day, reminded him of Lord Randolph’s words, ‘ I
have never feared the English democracy ’ and ‘ Trust the
people ’, and said I had been brought up on this, he said,
‘ Ah, that is quite right. The English working man is no
logician, like the French “ Red ”, whom I also know. He
is not thinking of new systems, but of having fairer treat-
ment in this one.’ I have found this true.

From 1908 onwards my seat in the Cabinet was next to
|iis. Six years of constant, friendly, and to me stimulating
propinquity! Week after week, often several times a week,
we had faced side by side the national, party, and personal
troubles and business of a period of hard political strife.
Cabinet neighbours, if they are friends, have a natural
tendency to share confidences, especially about their col-
leagues and their colleagues’ performances. Whispered and
♦ John Viscount Motley, by J. H. Morgan. Murray.

JOHN MORLEY 87

scribbled comments pass to and fro. Physically they survey
the Council scene from the same point of view. Personally
they become much engaged to one another. And to me
John Morley was always a fascinating companion, a man
linked with the past, the friend and contemporary of my
father, the representative of great doctrines, an actor in
historic controversies, a master of English prose, a practical
scholar, a statesman-author, a repository of vast knowledge
on almost every subject of practical interest. It was an
honour and privilege to consult and concert with him on
equal terms, across the gulf of thirty-five years of seniority 3^
in the swift succession of formidable and perplexing events.

Such men are not found to-day. Certainly they are not
found in British politics. The tidal wave of democracy and
the volcanic explosion of the War have swept the shores
bare. I cannot see any figure which resembles or recalls the
Liberal statesmen of the Victorian epoch. To make head
against the aristocratic predominance of those times, a Lan-
cashire lad, the son of a Blackburn doctor without favour
or fortune, had need of every intellectual weapon, of the
highest personal address, and of all that learning, courtesy,
dignity and consistency could bestow. Nowadays when
‘ one man is as good as another — or better ’, as Morley once
ironically observed, anything will do. The leadership of
the privileged has passed away: but it has not been suc-
ceeded by that of the eminent. We have entered the region
of mass effects. The pedestals which had for some years
been vacant have now been demolished. Nevertheless, the
world is moving on ; and moving so fast that few have time
to ask — whither. And to these few only a babel responds.

But in John Morley ’s prime the course was clear and
conscious, and the issues not so large as to escape from
human control.

♦

In 1910, my friend began to feel the weight of years.
He was then over seventy, and the India Office became a

88

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

burden he could not easily bear. He intimated this to
Mr. Asquith. No doubt Asquith was conscious of the
divergence on foreign policy which existed between Morley
and Grey. At any rate he acquiesced. When I heard
about this I was distressed. So I wrote as follows to the
Prime Minister :

Home Office,

Oct. 22, 1910.

It is with some diffidence that I write to you on a matter
which you may consider outside my province.

I had a talk with Morley yesterday and found a distinct
undercurrent of feeling in his mind that he had been some-
what easily let go. He would of course be very much vexed
with me for coming to such a conclusion, still more for repeat-
ing it to you. But I do so because I am strongly of opinion
that Morley’s complete detachment from the Government
at this stage might prove very disadvantageous to us, and
secondly because I have a deep personal affection for him,
and am proud to sit in Council by his side.

From what he said yesterday I am convinced that you
could even now retain his services in some great office
without administrative duties. Such an office is vacant at
the present time; for Crewe is not only Colonial Secretary
but Privy Seal. I would therefore venture respectfully and
earnestly to suggest to you to invite Morley to stay with
us in a post which would relieve him from the adminis-
trative burden he has found so heavy, and would at the
same time associate him with your Government in an effec-
tive and distinguished manner. The Cabinet will be spared
a very heavy loss in counsel and distinction, if you find
yourself able to make this offer.

I may add that the Chancellor of the Exchequer whom
I saw this morning authorized me to say on his behalf to
you that ‘ he saw great danger in \iorley*s being separated
from us entirely at the present time \

JOHN MORLEY 89

Please do not be offended by my addressing you on such
a subject. Only its importance and my wish to see your
administration successful has prompted me. In no case let
Morley know I have written.

I was delighted a few weeks later when this transition
was actually accomplished, though by a somewhat different
method, and my honoured companion continued by me in
his accustomed seat as Lord President of the Council.

* * * * *

Morley’s political life was ended by the War. The

Memorandum on Resignation which his literary executors
gave to the public five years after his death, and fifteen
years after the outbreak of War, is a document of absorbing
and permanent historical interest. It is marked by much
vagueness about the dates and sequence of events. It is,
of course, a partial and personal record. Yet it is, none
the less, as true and living a presentment of the War crisis
within the British Cabinet as has ever been, or probably
will ever be given. All is there, and these fragments so
shrewdly selected, so gracefully marshalled, are a better
guide to the true facts than the meticulously exact, vol-
uminously complete accounts which have appeared from
numerous quarters. In a style which arrests eyes jaded
with the commonplace, Morley has revealed, partly con-
sciously but for the most part unconsciously, both the
sundering from the past which Armageddon meant, and his
own inability to comprehend the new scale and violence
of the modern world.

It was from my close and intimate proximity and friend-
ship that I witnessed the horrible impact of the Great War
upon the statesman who above all others then alive repre-
sented the Victorian Age and the Gladstonian tradition. I
found that my neighbour was dwelling in a world which was
far removed from the awful reality. At such a juncture his
historic sense was no guide; it was indeed an impediment.

go GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

It was vain to look back to the Crimean War, to the wars of
1866 and 1870, and to suppose that any of the political re-
actions which had attended their declaration or course would
repeat themselves now. Wc were in the presence of events
without their equal or forerunner in the whole experience
of mankind. This frightful, monstrous thing, that had
been so long whispered, was now actually upon us. All
the greatest armies were mobilizing. Twelve or fourteen
millions of men were getting into harness, raising deadly
weapons, and rolling forward by every road and railway
towards long-appointed destinations.

Morley, resolute for neutrality, not indeed at all costs,
but — as it seemed to me — at fatal cost in days, was absorbed
by ideas of parley, of the fate of Liberalism, of the party
situation. He had spent his life building up barriers against
war in Parliament, in the constituencies, and in the national
mind. Surely all these ramparts of public opinion would
not collapse together. He w^as old ; he was frail ; but
outside this Cabinet room, were there not forces of Radical
democracy strong and fierce enough to make head against
the madness that was sweeping across Europe, and even,
alas ! infecting the Liberal Administration, originally
formed by Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman himself? My
responsibility on the other hand was to make sure that
whatever else happened or did not happen, the British Fleet
was ready and in its proper station in good time. This
involved the demanding of certain measures from the
Cabinet one after another as they fell due. So there
we sat side by side, hour after hour, through this flaming
week.

The majority of the Cabinet was for leaving France and
Germany and the other Powers great and small to fight
it out as they pleased, and Morley found himself looked
to as leader by a gathering band. But the issues were
clouded and tangled. There was Belgium and the faith of
Treaties. There were the undefended coasts of France, and

JOHN MORLEY QI

the possibility of the German fleet ‘ on our very doorstep ’
cannonading Calais, while the French battleships as the
result of tacit agreement with us were stationed in the
Mediterranean. Morley was no doctrinaire or fanatic. The
‘ doorstep ’ argument weighed with him. It persuaded the
Cabinet. John Burns alone resisting and resigning, they
agreed unitedly that the Germans should be told we could
not allow them in the Channel. This was a far-reaching
decision. From that moment Morley, too, was on the
slippery slope. The week wore on. The Fleet went silently
to its Northern base. The ‘ Precautionary Period ’ measures
were authorized by the Cabinet.

‘ One of these days ’, writes Morley, ‘ I tapped Winston on
the shoulder, as he took his seat next me. “ Winston, we
have beaten you after all.” He smiled cheerfully. Well
he might. 0 pectora caeca ! ’

But it was not me he had to beat. It was the avalanche,
the whirlwind, the earthquake, roaring forth in triple alli-
ance. So when later on he told me he must resign, I said
in effect that if he would wait for two or three days more,
everything would be clear, and we should be in full agree-
ment. The Germans would make everyone easy in his con-
science. They would accept all responsibilities and sweep
away all doubts. Already their vanguards pouring through
I.uxembourg approached the Belgian frontier. Nothing
could recall or deflect them. They were launched ; and
the catastrophe now imminent and certain would convince
and unite the British Empire as it had never been convinced
and united before. ‘ They cannot stop now. If they tried,
they would be thrown into utter confusion. They must go
on in spite of frontiers, treaties, threats, appeals, through
cruelties and horrors, trampling on until they meet the main
French Armies and the largest battles of history are fought.
Remember all the others are marching too.’

I offered to illustrate the position on the map. But he
took another line. ‘ You may be right — perhaps you are

92 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

— but I should be no use in a War Cabinet. I should only
hamper you. If we have to fight, we must fight with
single-hearted conviction. There is no place for me in such
affairs.’ To this I could find no answer, except to repeat
that all would speedily be made plain, and that in forty-
eight hours what was going to happen in Belgium, and
perhaps in the North Sea, would make him feel quite differ-
ently about things. But he persisted. Gently, gaily almost,
he withdrew from among us, never by word or sign to
hinder old friends or add to the nation’s burden.

I can only surmise his action had he taken my counsel.
What would have been the effect upon his strong, courageous
and authoritarian spirit of the German invasion of Belgium,
of the resistance of the Belgian King and people, of the
struggle at Liege, of the horrors of Louvain? Personally,
I believe he would have marched heart and soul at the
head of his fellow-countrymen, if he had waited only for
forty-eight hours. But looking back I am glad I did not
prevail upon him. It was better for him, for his repute
and for the great period and conceptions he embodied, that
he should ‘ testify ’ however impotently, and raise unavailing
hands of protest and censure against the advancing deluge.
The old world of culture and quality, of hierarchies and
traditions, of values and decorum deserved its champions.
It was doomed : but it did not lack its standard-bearer.

In the end Morley was left to go alone. The pressure of
events of which I had tried to warn him soon afforded
reasons, opportunity, excuses enough to the colleagues who
had proffered him their support. They stayed — with
various fortunes and different explanations: and Lloyd
George so successfully adapted himself to the new con-
ditions as to become the prime relentless war leader, the
apostle of the ‘ knock-out blow ’, the undisputed master of
the triumph. It is for these backsliding colleagues that the
sharpest censures of Morley’s memorandum are reserved.
‘ Winston, at whom I looked with paternal benignity,’ was

JOHN MORLEY 93

never the object of his reproach. I rejoice in this. To have
had an intense antagonism with an honoured friend on a
supreme issue, without losing either his friendship or com-
prehension, has in it some enduring elements of comfort as
one looks back along the lengthening, fading track of life.

Morley had risen to eminence and to old age in a brilliant,
hopeful world. He lived to see that fair world shattered,
its hopes broken, its wealth squandered. He lived to see
the fearful Armageddon, ‘ the angry vision of this hideous
war ’, the nations hurled against each other in the largest,
the most devastating, and nearly the most ferocious of all
human quarrels. He lived to see almost everything he
toiled for and believed in dashed to pieces. He endured
the cataclysm of fire and sword ; but he also survived to see
the island he loved so well emerge once again victorious in
the supreme ordeal. He lived even to recognize the im-
mense, fascinating, yet mysterious and unmeasured new
growths which everywhere are bursting forth amid the
ruins of the structures he had known.

HINDENBURG

HINDENBURG

Hindenburg ! The name itself is massive. It harmonizes
with the tall, thick-set personage with beetling brows, strong
features, and heavy jowl, familiar to the modern world.
It is a face that you could magnify tenfold, a hundred-
fold, a thousand-fold, and it would gain in dignity, nay,
even in majesty; a face most impressive when gigantic.
In 1916 the Germans made a wooden image of him, colossal,
towering above mankind ; and faithful admirers, by scores
of thousands, paid their coins to the War Loan for the
privilege of hammering a nail into the giant who stood
for Germany against the world. In the agony of defeat
the image was broken up for firewood. But the effect
remained — a giant: slow-thinking, slow-moving, but sure,
steady, faithful, warlike yet benignant, larger than the
ordinary run of men.

His life was that of a soldier and his youth a preparation
for arms. He fought as a subaltern in all the battles through
which Bismarck founded the indestructible might of the
German people, at last after centuries of petty feud formid-
ably united. He fought against Austria at Koniggratz in
1866. He fought against France in 1870. On the bloody
slopes of St. Privat, the tomb of the Prussian Guard, Hinden-
burg marched with dauntless tread. Half the regiment of
the Guard to which he belonged fell. He fought at Sedan.
Observing the immense circle of Prussian batteries firing
upon the doomed French, he remarked with gusto,

‘ Napoleon, too, is stewing in that cauldron ’.

He loved the old world of Prussia. He lived in the
famous tradition of Frederick the Great. ‘ Toujour s en
vedette as the German military saying goes — ‘ Always on
E 97

98 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

the look-out He revelled in the ‘ good old Prussian spirit
of Potsdam ’ ; the officer class, poor, frugal, but pursuing
honour with feudal fidelity, their whole existence devoted
to King and country; a class most respectful to the aris-
tocracy and the lawfully-constituted authorities; a class,
the enemy of change. Hindenburg had nothing to learn
from modern science and civilization except its weapons ;
no rule of life but duty; no ambition but the greatness of
the Fatherland.

The years rolled by. The subaltern rose in the military
hierarchy. He held a succession of important commands.
He was one of the leading generals of the German army.
Always he waited for the day when he would be leading
into battle not a mere company but whole army corps
against the accursed Frenchmen. Still the years rolled on.
A younger generation came knocking at the door. Deep
peace lapped the nations. At the top of the ladder of pro-
motion Hindenburg found only the shelf of retirement.
So, then, the great day would be for others. He retired
in modest circumstances to his home. From 19 ii he dwelt
like Cincinnatus on his farm. If he did not forget the
world, it seemed that tlie world had forgotten him. Then
came the explosion. From all her frontiers the pent-up
might of Germany surged upon the foe. The wonderful
military machine Hindenburg had shared in perfecting
was launched simultaneously upon France and Russia.
But he was out of it. He sat in his home. The greatest
battles in the world were fought without him. The Russian
armies poured into East Prussia, the land he loved so well,
every inch of which he knew. Would the call never come
to him? Was there no room, then, in this supreme struggle
for him? And was ‘Old Hindenburg’ relegated to the
past?

The call came. The Russian masses wended on victori-
ously in the East. The advance in the West approached its
climax. Suddenly there is a telegram — 3 p.m., August 22,

HINDENBURG

99

1914. It is from Main Headquarters: ‘ Are you prepared
for immediate employment?’ Answer: ‘I am ready.’
Within a few hours he was speeding eastwards to command
the German armies against Russia, against odds of be-
tween three and four to one. In the train he met his Chief of
Staff, who was already managing everything and issuing all
the orders with the underlying, over-riding authority of the
German General Staff'. Nothing is more becoming than
the relations which Hinclenburg preserved with Ludendorff.
Certainly it was a marvellous partnership. His lieutenant
was a prodigy of mental energy, cast in a military form.
Hindenburg was not jealous ; he was not petty ; he was
not fussy. He took the responsibility for all that his bril-
liant, much younger, subordinate conceived and did. There
were moments when the nerve of Ludendorff flickered,
and in these moments the solid, simple strength of Hinden-
burg sustained him. The awful Battle of Tannenberg
destroyed the Russian armies in the north ; the invaders
were swept from German soil by little more than one-third
of their number. Their losses exceeded twice over the total
numbers of their conquerors.

The dazzling victories in the East came just at the moment
when the German people became aware of the fact that
they had been repulsed from Paris and that the mighty
onrush which was to have ended the War in the first six
weeks had failed. They nursed and warmed themselves
with the good tidings that Hindenburg had smashed the
Russians. Thenceforward Hindenburg with his astounding
Chief Staff Officer, Ludendorff, became the main pillar of
German hope. The English military historians have used
"^Ithe cabalistic symbol hL to represent this famous com-
bination which during the War and to the outer world at
least presented itself as a pendant to the comradeship of
Lee and Jackson and farther back to the brotherhood of
Marlborough and Eugene. hL swiftly became the rival of
Main Headquarters. Moltke had disappeared with the

lOO GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

failure at the Marne, and a new chief, perhaps the ablest of
German commanders, Falkenhayn, directed the German
armies. He still looked to the West as the scene upon which
the decision would be obtained. Here were the greatest
forces, here were the hated French, here above all in his
own words was ‘ our most dangerous enemy . . . England,
with whom the conspiracy against Germany stands and
falls.’

But the eastern war lords thought differently. They
believed that with six or eight additional army corps they
could destroy quite swiftly the military power of Russia.
Let them have this force or even less; let it be used in a
great left-handed turning movement from the north, and they
would scoop up more than a million Russian troops in the
^Warsaw salient and bring about the immediate retreat of
all the southern Russian armies at grips with Austria. After
that everybody could return to the West and finish with
the French. Such was the difference in strategic thought.
There was also a difference of interests and of honourable
rivalries in the common cause.

These divergences, although veiled under the strict
forms of military discipline, rapidly became acute. Falken-
hayn in the West disposed of seven times the forces of
Hindenburg. He was the German generalissimo; he had
the Emperor’s ear; he had control of the General Staff.
hL lived on what they could get from him ; they were only
the junior partners. But just as the Russian commanders
who fought the Germans had only frightful disasters to
report, so the Germans on the Western front found them-
selves faced by the armies of civilizations at least the equal
of their own. Falkenhayn delivered his tremendous thrust
at the Channel ports. He sent against the gasping British
lines from Armentieres to the sea the Army Corps which
would have decided matters in therEast. Among these were
the four new Army Corps, improvised as has been described
from the valiant volunteer youth of Germany, who perished

HINDENBURG

lOI

before the thin but impenetrable lines of the British pro-
fessional divisions and their French reinforcements. Mean-
while in the East, Hindenburg and Ludendorff, with just not
quite enough strength, twice failed in audacious attempts
against enormous odds to capture Warsaw. 1914 closed
amid cold, stern, mutual recriminations, all strictly confined
to the highly-instructed circles of the German General
Staff.

But all through 1915 Falkenhayn retained the control.
Not only did he differ from hL about the emphasis between
West and East, but he had his own view on the Eastern
strategy. He did not agree with the Hindenburg left-
handed northern scoop. On the contrary, Austria must be
succoured and kept in the field. If additional efforts must
be made in the East their direction should be to the south-
ward, carrying forward the Austrian army behind a right-
handed German punch. And here the British enterprise
against the Dardanelles fortified Falkenhayn’s view. To
win Bulgaria and strike down Serbia, to establish through-
communications with Turkey — these objects seemed to
claim unquestionable priority. Great and victorious opera-
tions of this kind were executed by Falkenhayn’s orders.
In the summer the German eastern punch was delivered^
on the Austrian front at Gorlice-Tarnow under the com-
mand of Mackensen. There were great successes. Under
their pressure Russia recoiled with appalling losses, and for
other reasons the British assault upon Turkey collapsed.
Meanwhile hL, although co-operating actively and conduct-
ing war on an immense scale, were nevertheless marooned i
in the north. 1915 was Falkenhayn’s year. He, too, had
gathered a crop of the easier victories which grew in the
East for the German sickle.

The differences of strategic opinion, emphasized by
simpler causes of friction, tended to separate hL from
Main Headquarters. Hindenburg and his ambitious lieu-
tenant continued to propose great movements in the north.

102

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

They were always restricted to a minor role. Falkcnhayn
in the full tide of success laid his plans for 1916, and now
he made his fatal error. He decided to launch his main
offensive in the West. He selected Verdun as the crucial
point. Here upon this great bastion of the French front,
almost its strongest point, the vital point for which the
French must conquer or perish, he would use all the reserves
of the German military machine and the bulk of its terrific
artillery.

It should have been fairly obvious at the time that this
was a most unpromising undertaking; for the armies of
France and Britain in the West were capable of defending
themselves, if not in one position then in another, against
any margin of superiority which Germany could marshal.
But Falkcnhayn had his way and he had his chance. All
through the spring of 1916 his cannon blasted Verdun, and
the soul of the French nation met him there. In the up-
shot he wore himself out as much as he wore the French,
and by June the great Verdun offensive already had the
jaspcct of a stalemate. It was soon to present itself to the
world in the guise of recognizable defeat.

And now in July began the great Allied counter-offensive
of the Somme. The new British armies crashed into battle
in conjunction with the French left. They suffered terrible
losses, but such was the weight of the impact and so unceas-
ing week after week and month after month were their
assaults that Falkcnhayn had to close down his Verdun
battles and only held his own on the Somme by ceding
ground steadily and at the cost of the flower of the German
troops. At the critical moment the Russians in the south,
who were thought to be all beaten or dead, advanced
against the Austrians and under Brusilov annihilated large
portions of the Austrian front. On this, Roumania, long
hesitating, declared herself upon the Allies’ side. This was
the second supreme crisis of the war for Germany.

These events have been recounted because without know-

HINDENBURG

103

ledge of them it is impossible to understand the rise of
Hindenburg and Ludendorff. They had had a long time
to wait. They represented the unfashionable minority
school in the German General Staff. But their criticisms
were pointed by terrific lessons in the West. Now it seemed
they were entirely justified. All the gains of 1915 had
been thrown away. France and Britain were found in-
expugnable, and Russia was still alive. A new Power long
affiliated to Germany had joined the ranks of her still-
gathering foes.

Hindenburg was at Brest-Litovsk on the morning of
August 28, when he received orders to repair forthwith to
the Emperor’s headquarters. ‘ The only reason the Chief
of the Military Cabinet gave me was this, “ The position
is serious.” I put down the receiver and thought of Verdun,
Italy, Brusilov and the Austrian Eastern Front; then of
the news “ Roumania luis declared war on us.” Strong
nerves would be required ! ’

Hindenburg’s account of what followed is characteristic.

‘ In front of the castle at Plcss I found my All-Highest
War Lord awaiting the arrival of Her Majesty the Empress.
.... The Emperor immediately greeted me as Chief of
the General Staff of the Field Army and General Ludendorff
as my first Quartermaster-General. The Imperial Chan-
cellor too had appeared from Berlin, and apparently was
as much surprised as I myself at the change in the office of
Chief of the General Staff, a change which His Majesty
announced to him in my presence.’

Henceforward the entire direction of the German war
machine fell into the hands of the redoubtable pair. Not
only this, but they increasingly absorbed to themselves the
main political authority in Germany. They stabilized the
Austrian front against Russia. They destroyed Roumania.
They preserved their lines unbroken against the British
until the longed-for winter days came. With the new year
they made a prudent withdrawal in the West which com-

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

104

plctely disconcerted the Allied plans. Suddenly, swiftly
and silently the Germans withdrew to the new immense
fortifications of the Hindenburg Line, and gained a four
months’ breathing-space. The stakes were raised on both
sides and the fury of the War intensified. Russia dis-
integrated into revolution and ruin. The Peace of Brest-
Litovsk was signed. H could now look forward to a last
supreme opportunity in 1918. Their plans were not inter-
rupted by the murderous struggles with the British at
Passchendaele. They knew themselves in a position to
bring a reinforcement of a million men and five thousand
guns from the Russian front, and to have in 1918 for the
first time since the very beginning of the War a large and
substantial superiority in the West.

But these great measures of generalship were accom-
panied by a fatal error. hL were led to believe that a
submarine campaign on a gigantic scale would starve
England and force the British Empire to make peace.
Against the wish of the Kaiser, against the appeals of the
German Chancellor and the Foreign Office, they insisted on
unlimited submarine warfare, and on April 6th, 1917, the
United States declared war upon Germany. Here Hinden-
burg was acting outside the military sphere in which he and
his colleagues were expert. They staked too much upon a
purely mechanical device. They looked too little to the
tremendous psychological reactions upon the Allies, upon the
^^hole world, above all upon their own people, which must
'follow the apparition of a fresh, mighty antagonist among
the forces against Germany. They utterly underrated the
power of the United States. Moreover they had miscal-
culated the mechanical aspect. The British Navy was not
unequal to the extraordinary strain of the submarine
attack. By no great margin, but quite decisively, they
reached beneath the surface of the*' seas, groped for, found
and strangled the German submarines. By the summer of
1917 it was certain that the seas would remain open, that

HINDENBURO IO5

Britain would be fed, and that American troops in millions
could be carried to France.

The only question remaining was whether the German
armies reinforced from Russia could beat the British and
the French, as they had beaten the Italians, before over-
whelming hostile forces gradually developed in the West.
This was the great issue fought out in 1918, and there is no
need to recall the prodigious battles which from the 21st
of March to the beginning of July tore the Anglo-French
front. But the effort overtaxed the German strength;
the two great nations with whom they were locked in des-
perate grip had greater reserves of strength and virtue than
Germany could muster. The American weight grew unceas-
ingly. In the end, under the pressure of superior cannon and
superior numbers, the armies of the Kaiser bent and bowed,
and behind them the civil population, long pinched by the
British blockade, broke into turbulent confusion. It was
indeed now the world that was coming against them in an
irresistible tide. Millions of men, scores of thousands of
cannon, thousands of tanks; the heroic constancy of France
and the unrelenting will-power, which they always recog-
nized, of England. And behind, the measureless, now
rapidly-gathering forces of the United States. Too much !

The German front was broken, and the homeland behind
the front crumpled beneath the strain. The proud armies
recoiled; Ludendorff was dismissed. Hindenburg bided
with his Sovereign to the end. We must suppose that he
approved, and perhaps enjoined, the Kaiser’s departure to
Holland. For himself he went home with the troops.
What was Revolution compared to Defeat?

‘ I was at the side of my All-Highest War Lord during
these fateful hours. He entrusted me with the task of
bringing the Army back home. When I left my Emperor
in the afternoon of November 9, I was never to see him
again ! He went, to spare his Fatherland further sacrifices
and enable it to secure more favourable terms of peace.’

Io6 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

A pause of years; and then out of the confusion and
miseries of vanquished Germany Hindenburg was suddenly
raised to the summit of power. The German people in
their despair saw in him a rock to which they might cling.
President of the German Republic ! Will he accept the
office? First the Kaiser must release him from his oath
of allegiance. The Kaiser consented. Nearly a decade has
passed since then.* Hindenburg’s eighty-fourth birthday
was celebrated by a nation which felt its recovering strength
and was resuming its position in the world. It would be
well if we could end the story at this point. We cannot
here unravel the part he played in the melancholy and
terrible convulsions into which Germany has since been
thrown, but it must certainly have been at intervals decisive.
It makes no addition to his fame.

One incident must, however, be mentioned. The greatest
blot on Hindenburg’s career is his treatment of his Chan-
cellor Briining, and not only of Bruning but of the millions
of Germans, a large majority of the nation, who upon
Briining’s appeal placed their faith in Hindenburg to save
themselves from Hitler and all that Hitler meant. No
sooner was the Presidential election over, no sooner had
Hindenburg defeated Hitler by Briining’s aid, than the old
Field-Marshal turned upon his colleague and comrade, and
repudiated the trust of his supporters. He dismissed
Bruning with a few short words across the table. Some
official grimaces, a bow and a scrape, and the Chancellor,
who was leading Germany swiftly back to a high and
honoured position in Europe, was brushed out of power.
The lank, obscure, glass-eyed, stiff-collared official, hitherto
known only to the world by his mishandling of German
affairs in the United States, von Papen, was to universal
surprise arbitrarily placed at the summit of power. It is
said, but it is not necessary to pilrsue the point, that quite
small sordid questions about compensation money- pay-

* Written in 1934.

HINDENBURG

107

ments in respect of Junker estates in East Prussia in which
President Hindenburg’s son was personally involved were
not without their influence upon this shattering decision.

Events now rolled forward with gathering momentum.
The transition from Papen to Schleicher (now murdered)
and from Schleicher to Hitler was but an affair of months.
In the last phase we see the aged President, having betrayed
all the Germans who had re-elected him to power, joining
reluctant and indeed contemptuous hands with the Nazi
leader. There is a defence for all this, and it must be made
on behalf of President von Hindenburg. He had become
senile. He did not understand what he was doing. He
could not be held physically, mentally or morally respon-
sible for opening the floodgates of evil upon German, and
perhaps upon European, civilization. We may be sure that
the renowned veteran had no motive but love of his country,
and that he did his best with declining mental strength to
cope with problems never before presented to a ruler.

* * if * *

Dusk deepens into dark. It is time to sleep. Night-
mares, hideous choices, unanswerable riddles, pistol-shots
disturb an old man’s torpor. Where is the path? Always
uphill! Worse to come? Vorwdrts—al’wayi vorwdris—then
.silence.

HERBERT HENRY ASQUITH

HERBERT HENRY ASQUITH

Asquith was a man who knew where he stood on every
question of life and affairs in an altogether unusual degree.
Scholarship, politics, philosophy, law, religion, were all
spheres in which at the time when I knew him best he
seemed to have arrived at definite opinions. On all,
when the need required it, his mind opened and shut
smoothly and exactly, like the breech of a gun. He always
gave me the impression — perhaps natural for a younger man
in a subordinate station — of measuring all the changing,
baffling situations of public and Parliamentary life accord-
ing to settled standards and sure convictions: and there
was also the sense of a scorn, lightly and not always com-
pletely veiled, for arguments, for personalities and even for
events which did not conform to the pattern he had with
so much profound knowledge and reflection decidedly
adopted.

In some respects this was a limitation. The world,
nature, human beings do not move like machines. The
edges are never clear-cut, but always frayed. Nature never
draws a line without smudging it. Conditions are so
variable, episodes so unexpected, experiences so conflicting,
that flexibility of judgment and a willingness to assume a
somewhat humbler attitude towards external phenomena
may well play their part in the equipment of a modern
Prime Minister. But Asquith’s opinions in the prime of his
^ life were cut in bronze. Vast knowledge, faithful industry,
/deep thought were imbedded in his nature; and if, as was
, inevitable in the rough and tumble of life, he was forced to
i submit and bow to the opinions of others, to the force of
events, to the passions of the hour, it was often with barely

II2 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

concealed repugnance and disdain. If one is to select his
greatest characteristic, this massive finality stands forth,
for good or ill, above and beyond all others.

He had the power to convey a remarkable proportion of
the treasures of his intellect and the valour of his blood to
(the children of both his marriages. His second surviving
son rose in the War from Sub-Lieutenant to Brigadier-
General, gaining with repeated wounds amid the w'orst
fighting the Distinguished Service Order with two clasps,
and the Military Cross. To Raymond, his eldest son, the
inheritance passed in extraordinary perfection. Everything
seemed easy to Raymond. He repeated without apparent
effort all his father’s triumphs at Oxford. The son, like the
father, was without question the finest scholar of his year
and the most accomplished speaker in the University debates.
Verse or prose; Greek, Latin or English; law, history or
philosophy, came easily to Raymond as they had come thirty
years before to Henry Asquith. The brilliant epigram, the
pungent satire, the sharp and not always painless rejoinder,
a certain courtly but rather formal manner, distinguished in
youth the son, as they had his father before him. Address
and charm in conversation, the nice taste in words, the ready
pen and readier tongue, the unmistakable air of probity and
independence, and the unconscious sense of superiority that
sprang from these, belonged as of native right to both.
And now we have seen in the third generation Raymond’s
son, the present Earl of Oxford and Asquith, pursuing at
the university the same triumphant academic career.

It seemed quite easy for Raymond Asquith, when the
time came, to face death and to die. When I saw him at
the Front in November and December of 1915, he seemed
to move through the cold, squalor and peril of the winter
trenches as if he were above and immune from the common
ills of the flesh, a being clad in polished armour, entirely
undisturbed, presumably invulnerable. The War which
found the measure of so many never got to the bottom of

HERBERT HENRY ASQUITH I I3

him, and when the Grenadiers strode into the crash and
thunder of the Somme, he went to his fate cool, poised,
resolute, matter-of-fact, debonair. And well we know that
his father, then bearing the supreme burden of the State,
would proudly have marched at his side.

The political activities of Henry Asquith’s daughter. Lady
Violet Bonham-Carter, are of course well known. Her father
— old, supplanted in power, his Party broken up, his autho-
rity flouted, even his long-faithful constituency estranged
— found in his daughter a champion redoubtable even in
the first rank of Party orators. The Liberal masses in the
weakness and disarray of the Coalition period saw with
enthusiasm a gleaming figure, capable of dealing with the
gravest questions and the largest issues with passion, elo-
quence and mordant wit. In the two or three years when
her father’s need required it, she displayed force and talent
equalled by no woman in British politics. One wildfire
sentence from a speech in 1922 will suffice. Lloyd George’s
Government, accused of disturbing and warlike tendencies,
had fallen. Bonar Law appealed for a mandate of ‘ Tran-
quillity ’. ‘ We have to choose ’, said the young lady to an

immense audience, ‘ between one man suffering from St.
[Vitus’s Dance and another from Sleeping Sickness.’ It
must have been the greatest of human joys for Henry
Asquith in his dusk to find this wonderful being he had
called into the world, armed, vigilant and active at his side.
His children are his best memorial, and their lives recount
and revive his qualities.

* * * * *

At the time when I knew him best he was at the height of
his power. Great majorities supported him in Parliament
and the country. Against him were ranged all the stolid
Conservative forces of England. Conflict unceasing grew
year by year to a more dangerous intensity at home, while
abroad there gathered sullenly the hurricane that was to
wreck our generation. Our days were spent in the furious

II4 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

party battles which arose upon Home Rule and the Veto of
the House of Lords, whilst always upon the horizon deadly j
shapes grew or faded, and even while the sun shone there
was a curious whisper in the air.

He was always very kind to me and thought well of my
mental processes; was obviously moved to agreement by
many of the State papers which I wrote. A carefully-mar-
shalled argument, cleanly printed, read by him at leisure,
often won his approval and thereafter commanded his
decisive support. His orderly, disciplined mind delighted
in reason and design. It was always worth while spending
many hours to state a case in the most concise and effective
manner for the eye of the Prime Minister. In fact I believe
I owed the repeated advancement to great offices which he
accorded me, more to my secret writings on Government
business than to any impressions produced by conversation
or by speeches on the platform or in Parliament. One felt
that the case was submitted to a high tribunal, and that
repetition, verbiage, rhetoric, false argument, would be
impassively but inexorably put aside. /

In Cabinet he was markedly silent. Indeed he never
spoke a word in Council if he could get his way without it.
He sat, like the great Judge he was, hearing with trained
patience the case deployed on every side, now and then
interjecting a question or brief comment, searching or preg-
nant, which gave matters a turn towards the goal he wished
to reach ; and when at the end, amid all the perplexities and
cross-currents of ably and vehemently expressed opinion,
he summed up, it was very rarely that the silence he had
observed till then, did not fall on all.

He disliked talking ‘ shop ’ out of business hours, and
would never encourage or join in desultory conversation on
public matters. Most of the great Parliamentarians I have
known were always ready to talk politics and let their fancy
play over the swiftly-moving scene — Balfour, Chamberlain,
Morley, Lloyd George, threw themselves with zest into the

HERBERT HENRY ASQ^UITH II5

discussion of current events. With Asquith, either the
Court was open or it was shut. If it was open, his whole
attention was focused on the case ; if it was shut, there was
no use knocking at the door. This also may have been in
some respects a limitation. Many things are learnt by
those who live their whole lives with their main work ; and
although it is a great gift at once to have an absorbing
interest and to be able to throw it off in lighter hours, it
seemed at times that Asquith threw it off too easily, too
completely. He drew so strict a line between Work and
Play that one might almost think work had ceased to
attract him. The habit, formed in the life of a busy lawyer,
persisted. The case was settled and put aside; judgment
was formed, was delivered, and did not require review. The
next case would be called in its turn and at the proper hour.
^Of course he must have communed deeply with himself,
but less I believe than most men at the summit of a nation’s
affairs. His mind was so alert, so lucid, so well stored, so
thoroughly trained that once he had heard the whole matter
thrashed out, the conclusion came with a snap ; and each
conclusion, so far as lay with him, was final.

In affairs he had that ruthless side without which great
matters cannot be handled. When offering me Cabinet
office in his Government in 1908, he repeated to me Mr.
Gladstone’s saying : ‘ The first essential for a Prime Minister
is to be a good butcher,’ and he added, ‘ There are several
who must be pole-axed now.’ They were. Loyal as
he was to his colleagues, he never shrank, when the time
came and public need required it, from putting them aside
— once and for all. Personal friendship might survive if it
would. Political association was finished. But how else
can States be governed?

His letters to colleagues were like his conduct of Govern-
ment business. They were the counterpart of his speeches.
Innately conservative and old-fashioned, he disliked and
disdained telephones and typewriters. He who spoke so

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Il8 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

easily in public had never learnt to dictate. All must be
penned by him. A handwriting at once beautiful and
serviceable, rapid, correct and clear, the fewest possible
words and no possibility of misunderstanding; and if argu-
ment or epigram or humour found their place, it was because
they slipped from the pen before they could be bridled.
He wrote other letters in which no such compression was
practised. They were addressed to brighter eyes than peer
through politicians’ spectacles.

When work was done, he played. He enjoyed life
ardently; he delighted in feminine society; he was always
interested to meet a new and charming personality. Women
of every age were eager to be taken in to dinner by him.
They were fascinated by his gaiety and wit, and by his
evident interest in all their doings. He would play bridge
for modest stakes for hours every evening, no matter what
lightnings were flashing around the house or what ordeals
the morrow would swiftly be thrusting upon him.

* *

I saw him most intimately in the most agreeable circum-
stances. He and his wife and elder daughter were our guests
on the Admiralty yacht for a month at a time in the three
summers before the War. Blue skies and shining seas, the
Mediterranean, the Adriatic, the iEgean; Venice, Syracuse,
Malta, Athens, the Dalmatian coast ; great fleets and dock-
yards; the superb setting of the King’s Navy; serious work
and a pleasure cruise filled these very happy breathing-
spaces. In one whole month, with continuous agitation at
home and growing apprehension abroad, he maintained to-
wards me, who stood so near him in responsibility, a reserve
on all serious matters which was unbreakable. Once and
once only did he invite discussion. Important changes im-
pended in the Government. He asked my opinion about
men and offices, expressed agreement or difference in the
most confiding manner. He weighed the persons concerned

HERBERT HENRY ASQUITH I I9

in nicely-balanced scales, then closed and locked the subject,
put the invisible key in his pocket, and resumed a careful
study of a treatise on the monuments and inscriptions of
Spalato before which the yacht had just dropped anchor.
But some weeks later the appointments were made in the
exact sense of the discussion.

For the rest, you would not have supposed he had a care ^
in the world. He was the most painstaking tourist. He
mastered Baedeker, examined the ladies upon it, explained
and illuminated much, and evidently enjoyed every hour.
He frequently set the whole party competing who could
write down in five minutes the most Generals beginning with
1^, or Poets beginning with T, or Historians with some other
initiaE He had innumerable varieties of these games and
always excelled in them. He talked a great deal to the
Captain and the navigators about the ship and the course
and the weather. His retort in Parliament, ‘ The Right
Honourable Gentleman must wait and see,’ was then current.
There was a cartoon in Punch in which he was depicted
asking the young officer on the bridge, ‘ Why is she pitching
so much this morning? ’ To which the response was alleged
to have been, ‘ Well, you sec, sir, it is all a question of Weight
and Sea.’ Although only an apocryphal pun, this deserves
to survive.

For the rest he basked in the sunshine and read Greek.
He fashioned with deep thought impeccable verses in com-
plicated metre, and recast in terser form classical inscrip-
tions which displeased him. I could not help much in this.
But I followed with attention the cipher telegrams which
wc received each day, and of course we were always on the
new wireless of the Fleet.

One afternoon wc drove along a lovely road near Cattaro
— a harbour in those days of peculiar interest, not merely
for its scenery. We suddenly met endless strings of mules
and farm horses. We asked where they were going and what
for? We were told ‘ They are dispersing. The manoeuvres

120

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

are cancelled.’ The Balkan and European crisis of 1913 was
over!

iK * « * ♦

I cannot deem Mr. Spender’s agreeable, competent
biography * a complete or final memorial of one of the most
important, solid, and square-cut figures of our time. The
author’s judicial habit of mind and sweet reasonableness
(apart from preconceived opinions) are well known. The
picture which he has drawn upon this extensive canvas is so
subdued in tone and so stinted in colour that it does not
revive the image or personality of a stern, ambitious, in-
tellectually proud man fighting his way with all necessary
ruthlessness through some of the most rugged and terrible
years our history has known. The day will be awaited when
some far more vigorous and vital representation of this great
statesman, jurist, and tribune will be given to his fellow-
countrymen. The course of Asquith’s life was not all so
smooth and cool, so easy and unruffled as Mr. Spender’s pages
suggest. He should have drawn the picture of Asquith
and his times with stronger strokes, with higher lights and
darker shadows. It would have accorded more with
reality, and his hero would have lost nothing in the process.
The two main episodes of Asquith’s public career — the
struggle with the House of Lords about Home Rule, and
the declaration and the waging of the war upon Germany
— comprise many important pros and cons which have
been either omitted from the narrative or so much softened
as to become unnoticeable.

In all great controversies much depends on where the
tale begins. Mr. Asquith and the Liberal Party were
sincerely faithful to the cause of Home Rule ; but it must
not be forgotten that their dependence for offlee upon
eighty Irish votes was the spur which alone extorted action,
and that in 1906, when an independent Liberal majority

♦ The Life of Lord Oxford and Asquith^ by J. A. Spender and Cyril
Asquith. 1934.

HERBERT HENRY ASQ^UITH I2I

was hoped for, Home Rule was rigidly excluded from the
platform and the programme. It was this sinister influence
of eighty Irish votes — now happily for ever withdrawn
from the House of Commons — making and unmaking
Governments, swaying the fortunes of both great British
political parties, which poisoned nearly forty years of our
public life. The unconstitutional resistance of Ulster will
be judged by history in relation to the fact that the Ulster
Protestants believed that the Home Rule Bills were driven
forward not as a result of British convictions, but by the
leverage of this Irish voting power. That the lawless
demonstrations in Ulster were the parent of many grievous
ills cannot be doubted ; but if Ulster had confined herself
simply to constitutional agitation, it is extremely improbable
that she would have escaped forcible inclusion in a Dublin
Parliament.

These were hard facts. Mr. Asquith fought for the Irish
cause and the Liberal Party in the years before the War
with dignity and resolution ; but he could not himself have
been unconscious that he fought for them upon a basis
which was to some extent vitiated, first, by his dependence
upon the Irish vote, and, secondly, by the refusal of his
followers to extend the same measure of freedom to Ulster
as they proffered to Southern Ireland. When this is remem-
bered, it will be seen that his career as leader in this bitter
campaign was not such an example of long-suffering injured
innocence as Mr. Spender’s pages would imply. There was
hardihood and wrong-doing on both sides. The conflict
with the House of Lords which ended in the passage of
the Parliament Act cannot be judged apart from the Irish
quarrel with which it was interwoven. I shall certainly not
cease to accuse the intolerable partisanship by which the
House of Lords broke the credit of the great Liberal
majority returned in 1906. But matters would have never
come to the pass they did, and brother Englishmen would
never have been brought — in appearance at least — to the

122

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

verge of civil war, but for the baleful, extraneous influence
of the Irish feud. It was in this very rough battle, with all
its fierce and unfair fighting on both sides, that Asquith
held by force and art the foremost place.

The vigour of his conduct at the outbreak of the Great
War is not usually realized. That Asquith meant to carry
the British Empire unitedly into the war against German
aggression not only upon Belgium but also upon France
is undoubted. Never for one moment did he waver in
his support of Sir Edward Grey, and no one had in the
eight preceding years more consistently guarded that naval
supremacy which ensured alike our safety and our power
of intervention. As a war-leader he showed on several
notable occasions capacity for calculated or violent action.
To him alone I confided the intention of moving the Fleet
to its war station on July 30. He looked at me with a
hard stare and gave a sort of grunt. I did not require
anything else. He overruled Lord Fisher’s misgivings
about the Dardanelles almost with a gesture. For nearly a
month before the naval attempt to force the Straits on
March 18, 1915, he did not call the Cabinet together.
This was certainly not through forgetfulness. He meant
to have the matter put to the proof. After the first re-
pulse he was resolute to continue. Unhappily for himself
and all others, he did not thrust to the full length of his
convictions. When Lord Fisher resigned in May ahd the
Opposition threatened controversial debate, Asquith did not
hesitate to break his Cabinet up, demand the resignation of
all Ministers, end the political lives of half his colleagues,
throw Haldane to the wolves, leave me to bear the burden
of the Dardanelles, and sail on victoriously at the head of
a Coalition Government. Not ‘ all done by kindness ’ !
Not all by rosewater ! These were the convulsive struggles of
a man of action and of ambition at death-grips with events.

One would imagine from Mr. ’"Spender’s description of
the break-up of the Coalition in December, 1916, that Mr.

HERBERT HENRY ASQUITH I23

Asquith was a kind of Saint Sebastian standing unresisting
with a beatific smile, pierced by the arrows of his persecutors.
As a matter of fact, he defended his authority by every
resource in his powerful arsenal. The Prime Minister’s
position of eminence and authority and the air of detach-
ment arising therefrom enabled him to use the potent instru-
ment of Time with frequent advantage in domestic affairs.
Repeatedly he prevented the break-up of his Government
or the resignation of important Ministers by refusing to
allow a decision to be taken. ‘ What we have heard to-day
leaves much food for thought; let us all reflect before
we meet again how we can bring ourselves together.’ In
times of peace, dealing with frothy, superficial party and
personal bickerings, this was often successful. War, un-
tamable, remorseless, soon snapped this tackle. The phrase
‘ Wait and see ’, which he had used in peace, not indeed
in a dilatory but in a minatory sense, reflected with in-
justice, but with just enough truth to be dangerous, upon
his name and policy. Although he took every critical
decision without hesitation at the moment when he judged it
ripe, the agonized nation was not content. It demanded a
frenzied energy at the summit; an effort to compel events
rather than to adjudicate wisely and deliberately upon them.
‘ The Generals and Admirals have given their expert advice,
and .on that evidence the following conclusions must be
drawn ’ — not his words but his mode — proved a policy
inadequate to the supreme convulsion. More was de-
manded. The impossible was demanded. Speedy victory
was demanded, and the statesman was judged by the
merciless test of results. The vehement, contriving, re-
sourceful, nimblc-leaping Lloyd George seemed to offer a
brighter hope, or at any rate a more savage effort.

The fullest and most authoritative account of the fall
of Asquith’s Government is found in Lord Beaverbrook’s
revealing pages.* This is one of the most valuable historical
* Politicians and the War, Vol. 2.

124 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

documents of our day, and in the main its assertions remain
unchallenged. Here we see Mr. Lloyd George advancing
to his goal, now with smooth and dexterous artifice, now with
headlong charge. We see Mr. Asquith at bay. A new light
is thrown upon his conduct at this juncture. He was
certainly not the helpless victim which his enemies have
believed and his biographer has depicted. Misunderstanding
the account given to him by Mr. Bonar Law of the attitude
of the Conservative Ministers, he committed a fatal blunder,
and made a virtual accommodation with Mr. Lloyd George.
Reassured the next morning that he had overwhelming
Liberal and Conservative support in the Cabinet, he set
out to try conclusions with him in good earnest. When
he found himself weak, he temporized and retreated ; when
he felt himself strong, he struck back with all his might;
and at the end, when he resolved to put his rival to the
test, of forming a Government or being utterly discredited,
he was at once adamant and jocular. He played the tre-
mendous stake with iron composure. He bore defeat with
fortitude and patriotism.

* ^ ^ *

I shall never cease to wonder why Mr. Asquith, with a
large Liberal majority at his back, did not in the crisis of
the 1916 winter invoke the expedient of a Secret Session,
and seek the succour of the House of Commons. There,
is the final citadel of a Prime Minister in distress. No
one can deny him his right in peace or war to appeal from
the intrigues of Cabinets, caucuses, clubs, and newspapers
to that great assembly, and take his dismissal only at their
hands. Yet the Liberal Government which fell in 1915,
the Asquith Coalition which fell in 1916, the Lloyd George
Coalition which fell in 1922 — all were overthrown by secret,
obscure, internal processes of which the public only now
know the main story. I am of opinion that in every one of
these cases the result of confident resort to Parliament would
have been the victory of the Prime Minister of the day.

HERBERT HENRY ASQ^UITH I25

It was not to be. Parliament listened bewildered to the
muffled sounds of conflict proceeding behind closed doors,
and dutifully acclaimed the victor who emerged. Thus did
Lloyd George gain the truncheon of State. High Constable
of the British Empire, he set out upon his march.

* * * * *

Mr. Asquith was probably one of the greatest peace-time
Prime Ministers we have ever had. His intellect, his
sagacity, his broad outlook and civic courage maintained
him at the highest eminence in public life. But in war he
had not those qualities of resource and energy, of prevision
and assiduous management, which ought to reside in the
executive. Mr. Lloyd George had all the qualities which he
lacked. The nation, by some instinctive, almost occult pro-
cess, had found this out. Mr. Bonar Law was the instru-
ment which put Mr. Asquith aside and set another in his
stead. Asquith fell when the enormous task was but half
completed. He fell with dignity. He bore adversity with
composure. In or out of power, disinterested patriotism
and inflexible integrity were his only guides. Let it never
be forgotten that he was always on his country’s side in
all her perils, and that he never hesitated to sacrifice his
personal or political interests to the national cause. In
the Boer War, in the Great War, whether as Prime Minister
or Leader of the Opposition, in the constitutional outrage
of the General Strike — in every one of these great crises he
stood firm and unflinching for King and Country, The
glittering honours, his Earldom and his Garter, which the
Sovereign conferred upon him in his closing years, were
but the fitting recognition of his life’s work, and the lustre
and respect with which the whole nation lighted his evening
path were a measure of the services he had rendered, and
still more of the character he had borne.

LAWRENCE OF ARABIA

LAWRENCE OF ARABIA *

I DID not meet Lawrence till after the War was over. It
was the spring of 1919, when the Peace-makers, or at any
rate the Treaty-makers, were gathered in Paris and ail
England was in the ferment of the aftermath. So great
had been the pressure in the War, so vast its scale, so,
dominating the great battles in France, that I had only
been dimly conscious of the part played in Allenby’s cam-
paigns by the Arab revolt in the desert. But now someone
said to me: ‘You ought to meet this wonderful young
man. His exploits are an epic.’ So Lawrence came to
luncheon. Usually at this time in London or Paris he wore
his Arab dress in order to identify himself with the interests
of the Emir Feisal and with the Arabian claims then under
harsh debate. On this occasion, however, he wore plain
clothes, and looked at first sight like one of the many clean-
cut young officers who had gained high rank and distinction
in the struggle. We were men only and the conversation
was general, but presently someone rather^ mischievously
told the story of his behaviour at an Investiture some weeks
before.

The impression I received was that he had refused to
accept the decorations which the King was about to confer
on him at an official ceremony. I was Secretary of State
for War, so I said at once that his conduct was most wrong,
not fair to the King as a gentleman and grossly disrespectful
to him as a sovereign. Any man might refuse a title or a
decoration, any man might in refusing state the reasons

* Most of this essay lias already been published in T. E. Lawrence ^
by his Friends, 1037, and is also drawn from my address at the unveiling
of his memorial at his Oxford school. It is reprinted here for the sake
of completeness. — W. S. C.

F

129

130 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

of principle which led to his action, but to choose the
occasion when His Majesty in pursuance of his constitu-
tional duty was actually about to perform the gracious act
of personally investing him, as the occasion for making a
political demonstration, was monstrous. As he was my
guest I could not say more, but in my official position I
could not say less.

It is only recently that I have learned the true facts.
The refusal did in fact take place, but not at the public
ceremonial. The King received Lawrence on October 30
in order to have a talk with him. At the same time His
Majesty thought it would be convenient to give him the
Commandership of the Bath and the Distinguished Service
Order to which he had already been gazetted. When the
King was about to bestow the Insigni,a, Lawrence begged
that he might be allowed to refuse them. The King and
Lawrence were alone at the time.

Whether or not Lawrence saw I had misunderstood the
incident, he made no effort to minimize it or to excuse him-
self. He accepted the rebuke with good humour. This was
the only way in his power, he said, of rousing the highest
authorities in the State to a realization of the fact that the
honour of Great Britain was at stake in the faithful treat-
ment of the Arabs and that their betrayal to the Syrian
demands of France would be an indelible blot on our history.
The King himself should be made aware of what was being
done in his name, and he knew no other way. I said that
this was no defence at all for the method adopted, and then
turned the conversation into other and more agreeable
channels.

But I must admit that this episode made me anxious to
learn more about what had actually happened in the desert
war, and opened my eyes to the passions which were seething
in Arab bosoms. I called for reports and pondered them.
I talked to the Prime Minister about it. He said that the
French meant to have Syria and rule it from Damascus,

LAWRENCE OF ARABIA I3I

and that nothing would turn them from it. The Sykes-
Picot agreement which we had made during the War had
greatly confused the issue of principle, and only the Peace
Conference could decide conflicting claims and pledges.
This was unanswerable.

I did not see Lawrence again for some weeks. It was,
if my memory serves me right, in Paris. He wore his Arab
robes, and the full magnificence of his countenance revealed
itself. The gravity of his demeanour ; the precision of his
opinions; the range and quality of his conversation; all
seemed enhanced to a remarkable degree by the splendid
Arab head-dress and garb. From amid the flowing draperies
his noble features, his perfectly-chiselled lips and flashing
eyes loaded with fire and comprehension shone forth. He
looked what he was, one of Nature’s greatest princes. We
got on much better this time, and I began to form that
impression of his strength and quality which since has never
left me. Whether he wore the prosaic clothes of English
daily life or afterwards in the uniform of an Air Force
mechanic, I always saw him henceforward as he appears in
Augustus John’s brilliant pencil sketch.

I began to hear much more about him from friends who
had fought under his command, and indeed there was endless
talk about him in every circle, military, diplomatic and
academic. It appeared that he was a savant as well as
a soldier: an archaeologist as well as a man of action: a
brilliant scholar as well as an Arab partisan.

It soon became evident that his cause was not going well
in Paris. He accompanied Feisal everywhere as friend
and interpreter. Well did he interpret him. He scorned
his English connections and all question of his own career
compared to what he regarded as his duty to the Arabs.
He clashed with the French. He faced Clemcnceau in long
and repeated controversies. Here was a foeman worthy of
his steel. The old Tiger had a face as fierce as Lawrence’s,
an eye as unquailing and a will-power well matched.

132 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

Clemenceau had a deep feeling for the East; he loved a
paladin, admired Lawrence’s exploits and recognized his
genius. But the French sentiment about Syria was a
hundred years old. The idea that France, bled white in the
trenches of Flanders, should emerge from the Great War
without her share of conquered territories was insupportable
to him, and would never’ have been tolerated by his
countrymen.

Everyone knows what followed. After long and bitter
controversies both in Paris and in the East, the Peace
Conference assigned the mandate for Syria to France. When
the Arabs resisted this by force, the French troops threw the
Emir Feisal out of Damascus after a fight in which some of
the bravest of the Arab chiefs were killed. They settled
down in the occupation of this splendid province, repressed
the subsequent revolts with the utmost sternness, and rule
there to this day by the aid of a very large army.*

I did not see Lawrence while all this was going on, and
indeed when so many things were crashing in the post-War
world the treatment of the Arabs did not seem exceptional.
But when from time to time my mind turned to the subject
I realized how intense his emotions must be. He simply did
not know what to do. He turned this way and that in
desperation, and in disgust of life. In his published writings
he has declared that all personal ambition had died within
him before he entered Damascus in triumph in the closing
phase of the War. But I am sure that the ordeal of watching
the helplessness of his Arab friends to whom he had pledged
his word, and as he conceived it the word of Britain, mal-
treated in this manner, must have been the main cause which
decided his eventual renunciation of all power in great affairs.
His highly-wrought nature had been subjected to the most
extraordinary strains during the War, but then his spirit had
sustained it. Now it was the spirit that was injured.

In the spring of 1 92 1 I was sent to the Colonial Office to
♦ Written in 1935.

LAWRENCE OF ARABIA I33

take over our business in the Middle East and bring matters
into some kind of order. At that time we had recently
suppressed a most dangerous and bloody rebellion in Iraq,
and upwards of forty thousand troops at a cost of thirty
million pounds a year were required to preserve order.
This could not go on. In Palestine the strife between the
Arabs and the Jews threatened at any moment to take
the form of actual violence. The Arab chieftains, driven
out of Syria with many of their followers — all of them our
late allies — lurked furious in the deserts beyond the Jordan.
Egypt was in ferment. Thus the whole of the Middle East
presented a most melancholy and alarming picture. I
formed a new department of the Colonial Office to discharge
these new responsibilities. Half a dozen very able men
from the India Office and from those who had served in
Iraq and Palestine during the War formed the nucleus. I
resolved to add Lawrence to their number, if he could be
persuaded. They all knew him well, and several had served
with or under him in the field. When I broached this
project to them, they were frankly aghast — ‘ What ! wilt
thou bridle the wild ass of the desert ? ’ Such was the
attitude, dictated by no small jealousy or undervaluing of
Lawrence’s qualities, but from a sincere conviction that in
his mood and with his temperament he could never work
at the routine of a public office.

However, I persisted. An important post was offered to
Lawrence, and to the surprise of most people, though not
altogether to mine, he accepted at once. This is not the
place to enter upon the details of the tangled and thorny
problems we had to settle. The barest outline will suffice.
It was necessary to handle the matter on the spot. I there-
fore convened a conference at Cairo to which practically all
the experts and authorities of the Middle East were sum-
moned. Accompanied by Lawrence, Hubert Young, and
Trenchard from the Air Ministry, I set out for Cairo. We
stayed there and in Palestine for about a month. We sub-

134 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

mitted the following main proposals to the Cabinet. First,
we would repair the injury done to the Arabs and to the
House of the Sherifs of Mecca by placing the Emir Feisal
upon the throne of Iraq as King, and by entrusting the
Emir Abdulla with the government of Trans-Jordania.
Secondly, we would remove practically all the troops from
Iraq and entrust its defence to the Royal Air Force.
Thirdly, we suggested an adjustment of the immediate
difficulties between the Jews and Arabs in Palestine which
would serve as a foundation for the future.

Tremendous opposition was aroused against the first two
proposals. The French Government deeply resented the
favour showm to the Emir Feisal, whom they regarded as a
defeated rebel. The British War Office was shocked at the
removal of the troops, and predicted carnage and ruin. I
had, however, already noticed that when Trenchard under-
took to do anything particular, he usually carried it through.
Our proposals were accepted, but it required a year of most
difficult and anxious administration to give effect to what
had been so speedily decided.

Lawrence’s term as a Civil Servant was a unique phase
in his life. Everyone was astonished by his calm and
tactful demeanour. His patience and readiness to work
with others amazed those who knew him best. Tremendous
confabulations must have taken place among these experts,
and tension at times must have been extreme. But so far
as I was concerned, I received always united advice from two
or three of the very best men it has ever been my fortune
to work with. It wTmld not be just to assign the whole
credit for the great success which the new policy secured
to Lawrence alone. The wonder was that he was able to
sink his personality, to bend his imperious will and pool his
knowledge in the common stock. Here is one of the proofs
of the greatness of his character and the versatility of his
genius. He saw the hope of redeeming in a large measure
the promises he had made to the Arab chiefs and of re-

lawr5:nce of Arabia 135

establishing a tolerable measure of peace in those wide
regions. In that cause he was capable of becoming — I
hazard the word — a humdrum official. The effort was not
in vain. His purposes prevailed.

Towards the end of the year things began to go better.
All our measures were implemented one by one. The
Army left Iraq, the Air Force was installed in a loop of the
Euphrates, Baghdad acclaimed Feisal as king, Abdulla
settled down loyally and comfortably in Trans-Jordania.
One day I said to Lawrence : ‘ What would you like to do
when all this is smoothed out? The greatest employments
are open to you if you care to pursue your new career in the
Colonial Service.’ He smiled his bland, beaming, cryptic
smile, and said : ‘ In a very few months my work here will
be finished. The job is done, and it will last.’ — ‘ But what
about you ? ’ — ‘ All you will see of me is a small cloud of
dust on the horizon.’

He kept his word. At that time he was, I believe, almost
without resources. His salary was £1,200 a year, and
governorships and great commands were then at my dis-
posal. Nothing availed. As a last resort I sent him out
to Trans-Jordania where sudden difficulties had arisen. He
had plenary powers. He wdelded them with his old vigour.
He removed officers. He used force. He restored complete
tranquillity. Everyone was delighted with the success of his
mission, but nothing would persuade him to continue. It
was with sadness that I saw ‘ the small cloud of dust ’ vanish-
ing on the horizon. It was several years before we met again.
I dwell upon this part of his activities because in a letter
recently published he assigns to it an importance greater than
his deeds in war. But this is not true judgment.

The next episode was the writing, the printing, the bind-
ing and the publication of his book The Seven Pillars, This
is perhaps the point at which to deal with this treasure
of English literature. As a narrative of war and adventure,
as a portrayal of all that the Arabs mean to the world,

136 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

it is unsurpassed. It ranks with the greatest books ever
written in the English language. If Lawrence had never
done anything except write this book as a mere work of
the imagination his fame would last — to quote Macaulay’s
hackneyed phrase — ‘ as long as the English language is
spoken in any quarter of the globe ’. The Pilgrim^ s Pro-
gress, Robinson Crusoe, GullivePs Travels are dear to British
homes. Here is a tale originally their equal in interest
and charm. But it is fact, not fiction. The author was
also the commander. Caesar’s Commentaries deal with
larger numbers, but in Lawrence’s story nothing that has ever
happened in the sphere of war and empire is lacking. When
most of the vast literature of the Great War has been sifted
and superseded by the epitomes, commentaries and histories
of future generations, when the complicated and infinitely
costly operations of its ponderous armies are the concern
only of the military student, when our struggles are viewed in
a fading perspective and a truer proportion, Lawrence’s tale
of the revolt in the desert will gleam with immortal fire.

We heard that he was engaged upon this work and that
a certain number of those whom he regarded as worthy of
the honour were invited to subscribe for a copy. I
gladly did so. In the copy which eventually reached me
he wrote at an interval of eleven years two inscriptions
which I greatly value, though much has changed since then,
and they went far beyond the truth at the time. He refused
to allow me to pay for the book. I had deserved it, he said.

In principle the structure of the story is simple. The
Turkish armies operating against Egypt depended upon the
desert railway. This slender steel track ran through
hundreds of miles of blistering desert. If it were perman-
ently cut the Turkish armies must perish: the ruin of
Turkey must follow, and with it the downfall of the mighty
Teutonic power which hurled its hate from ten thousand
cannons on the plains of Flanders. Here was the Achilles’
heel, and it was upon this that this man in his twenties

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GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

138

directed his audacious, desperate, romantic assaults. We
read of them in numerous succession. Grim camel-rides
through sun-scorched, blasted lands, where the extreme
desolation of nature appals the -traveller. With a motor-car
or aeroplane we may now inspect these forbidding solitudes,
their endless sands, the hot savage wind- whipped rocks, the
mountain gorges of a red-hot moon. Through these with
infinite privation men on camels with shattering toil carried
dynamite to destroy railway bridges and win the war, and,
as we then hoped, free the world.

Here we see Lawrence the soldier. Not only the soldier
but the statesman ; rousing the fierce peoples of the desert,
penetrating the mysteries of their thought, leading them to
the selected points of action and as often as not firing the
mine himself. Detailed accounts are given of ferocious
battles with thousands of men and little quarter fought
under his command on these lava landscapes of hell. There
are no mass-effects. All is intense, individual, sentient — and
yet cast in conditions which seemed to forbid human exist-
ence. Through ail, one mind, one soul, one will-power.
An epic, a prodigy, a tale of torment, and in the heart of
it — a Man.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

The impression of the personality of Lawrence remains
living and vivid upon the minds of his friends, and the sense
of his loss is in no way dimmed among his countrymen.
All feel the poorer that he has gone from us. In these days
dangers and difficulties gather upon Britain and her Empire,
and we are also conscious of a lack of outstanding figures
with which to overcome them. Here was a man in whom
there existed not only an immense capacity for service, but
that touch of genius which everyone recognizes and no one
can define. Alike in his great period of adventure and
command or in these later years oCself-suppression and self-
imposed eclipse, he always reigned over those with whom
he came in contact. They felt themselves in the presence of

LAWRENCE OF ARABIA I39

an extraordinary being. They felt that his latent reserves
of force and will-power were beyond measurement. If he
roused himself to action, who should say what crisis he could
not surmount or ciuell? If things were going very badly,
how glad one would be to see him come round the corner.

Part of the secret of this stimulating ascendancy lay of
course in his disdain for most of the prizes, the pleasures
and comforts of life. The world naturally looks with some
awe upon a man who appears unconcernedly indifferent to
home, money, comfort, rank or even power and fame. The
world feels, not without a certain apprehension, that here
is someone outside its jurisdiction; someone before whom
its allurements may be spread in vain; someone strangely
enfranchised, untamed, untrammelled by convention, mov-
ing independently of the ordinary currents of human
action ; a being readily capable of violent revolt or supreme
sacrifice, a man, solitary, austere, to whom existence is no
more than a duty, yet a duty to be faithfully discharged.
He was indeed a dweller upon the mountain-tops where the
air is cold, crisp and rarefied, and where the view on clear
days commands all the Kingdoms of the world and the
glory of them.

Lawrence was one of those beings whose pace of life was
faster and more intense than the ordinary. Just as an
aeroplane only flies by its speed and pressure against the
air, so he flew best and easiest in the hurricane. He was
not in complete harmony with the normal. The fury of
the Great War raised the pitch of life to the Lawrence
standard. The multitudes were swept forward till their
pace was the same as his. In this heroic period he found
himself in perfect relation both to men and events.

I have often wondered what would have happened to
Lawrence if the Great War had continued for several more
years. His fame was spreading fast and with the momen-
tum of the fabulous throughout Asia. The earth trembled
with the wrath of the warring nations. All the metals were

140 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

molten. Everything was in motion. No one could say
what was impossible. Lawrence might have realized
Napoleon’s young dream of conquering the East ; he might
have arrived at Constantinople in 1919 or 1920 with many
of the tribes and races of Asia Minor and Arabia at his
back. But the storm wind ceased as suddenly as it had
arisen. The skies became clear ; the bells of Armistice rang
out. Mankind returned with indescribable relief to its long-
interrupted, fondly-cherished ordinary life, and Lawrence
was left once more moving alone on a different plane and
at a different speed.

When his literary masterpiece was v/ritten, lost and
written again ; when every illustration had been profoundly
considered and every incident of typography and paragraph-
ing settled with meticulous care; when Lawrence on his
bicycle had carried the precious volumes to the few — the
very few he deemed worthy to read them — happily he found
another task to his hands which cheered and comforted his
soul. He saw as clearly as anyone the vision of Air power
and all that it would mean in traffic and war. He found
in the life of an aircraftsman that balm of peace and equi-
poise which no great station or command could have be-
stowed upon him. He felt that in living the life of a private
in the Royal Air Force he would dignify that honourable
calling and help to attract all that is keenest in our youthful
manhood to the sphere where it is mos't urgently needed.
For this service and example, to which he devoted the last
twelve years of his life, we owe him a separate debt. It
was in itself a princely gift.

Lawrence had a full measure of the versatility of genius.
He held one of those master keys which unlock the doors
of many kinds of treasure-houses. He was a savant as well
as a soldier. He was an archaeologist as well as a man of
action. He was an accomplished scholar as well as an Arab
partisan. He was a mechanic as well as a philosopher.
His background of sombre experience and reflection only

LAWRENCE OF ARABIA

I4I

seemed to set forth more brightly the charm and gaiety of
his companionship, and the generous majesty of his nature.
Those who knew him best miss him most ; but our country
misses him most of all ; and misses him most of all now.
For this is a time when the great problems upon which
his thought and work had so long centred, problems of aerial
defence, problems of our relations with the Arab peoples,
fill an ever larger space in our affairs. For all his reiterated
renunciations I always felt that he was a man who held him-
self ready for a new call. While Lawrence lived one always
felt — I certainly felt it strongly — that some overpowering
need would draw him from the modest path he chose to
tread and set him once again in full action at the centre
of memorable events.

It was not to be. The summons which reached him, and
for which he was equally prepared, was of a different order.
It came as he would have wished it, swift and sudden on
the wings of Speed. He had reached the last leap in his
gallant course through life.

All is over ! Fleet career,

Dash of greyhound slipping thongs,

Flight of falcon, bound of deer, ^

Mad hoof-thunder in our rear,

Cold air rushing up our lungs,

Din of many longues.

King George the Fifth wrote to Lawrence’s brother, ‘ His
name will live in history.’ That is true. It will live in
English letters; it will live in the traditions of the Royal
Air Force ; it will live in the annals of war and in the legends
of Arabia.

FIRST EARL OF BIRKENHEAD

* F. E.*

FIRST EARL OF BIRKENHEAD

A HUNDRED years ago, Thomas Smith was the best runner
and the most redoubtable knuckle-fighter in the West
Riding of Yorkshire. He earned his living as a miner.
In those days the miners were a class apart. They were
‘ bound * to their employers by engagemenfs whose terms
recalled the serfdom of the Middle Ages; tKey lived,
for the most part, in self-contained communities, lives
of hard privation, and were regarded by more fortunate
workers as little better than savages. It was a fierce world.
According to routine the pit, its darkness, its thousand
lurking dangers, and its warlike comradeships, swallowed
up the son of a mining family.

But Thomas Smith resolved that his boy, for one, should
have a different life. With great pains he had him educated,
and the youth, seizing his opportunities, obtained a post as
schoolmaster, first at Wakefield, and afterwards at Birken-
head. A devout and uncompromising Nonconformist of
the harshest and narrowest school, this Thomas Smith had
brought home as bride a strange, wild creature of swift,
fierce moods and a will that matched his own. It is said
she was of gipsy stock ; she certainly possessed the dark but
vivid beauty that sometimes goes with Romany blood. A
curious match, but a happy one; nay, with remarkable
consequences; for students of heredity may note that the
grandchild of Thomas and Bathsheba Smith became Lord
Chancellor of England. He was Frederick Edwin Smith,
first Earl of Birkenhead.

Our country draws its strength from many sources.

*45

146 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

And in th6 last century and a half she has discovered fresh
reserves of leadership in the men of the new middle classes,
created by the expansion of enterprise and wealth which
followed the Industrial Revolution. Without name or
influence to help them, often with no money save what they
won by their own efforts, these sons of merchants and manu-
facturers, of doctors, lawyers, and clergymen, of authors,
teachers, and shopkeepers, have made their way to the
front rank in public life and to the headship of almost every
great business by native worth alone. Their contribution
to government has been rich and varied. It is impossible,
looking back, to imagine what we should have been without
them. Blot them from the pages, and how much is left
of the political history of the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries? Peel, Gladstone, and Disraeli; Bright, Cobden,
and the Chamberlains; Asquith, Bonar Law, and Baldwin
are all swept from the scene.

Frederick Edwin Smith was one of these types, though
he sprang from a more rugged strain. His father, Thomas’s
son, as his filial biographer tells us in an agreeable and enter-
taining book,* left home hurriedly at the age of seventeen
after an argument on the subject of Sunday skating. He
joined the Army, served on the North-West Frontier, and
was a sergeant-major at twenty-one. When he returned
to England, he devoted himself for a time to the family
business; then studied law and was called to the Bar. He
entered politics, and seemed on the threshold of a dis-
tinguished legal and Parliamentary career when he died
suddenly at the age of forty-three. This meant that
Frederick Edwin had his own way to make in the world.
He was sixteen.

An uncle was prepared to help him through Oxford, but
only on condition that he won an open scholarship. He
won it. After much pleasant idleness and whole-hearted
enjoyment of university life, he found himself in debt and
♦ Frederick Edwin, Earl of Birkenhead, Birkenhead.

‘f. E.’ first earl of BIRKENHEAD I47

with no prospect of extricating himself from his difficulties
unless he took a First Class in Schools, He shut himself up
in his lodgings, and for six months worked fourteen hours a
day. He got his First Class," and next year became Vinerian
Law Scholar and a Fellow of Merton College. He was
called to the Bar in 1899. By 1904 he was earning ^^6,000
a year, and in 1908 he took silk. His Parliamentary repu-
tation was by then already firmly established. He had
become a national figure with his maiden speech.

That speech was a daring gamble. He knew it to be so.
As he drove to Westminster with his wife on the evening
that he expected to catch the Speaker’s eye, he told her of
ht resolve to stake all upon this single throw, and that he ^
had counted the cost of failure.

‘ If I fail,’ he said, ‘ there will be nothing for me but to
remain silent for three years until my disgrace is forgotten.’

‘ Must you risk so much ? ’ she asked.

The speech was a triumph. I heard only the latter part.
But I could feel from the moment I came in that the crowded
House was listening to a new figure of the first rank.
Tim Healy, the Irish Nationalist, a master of invective
and one of the most brilliant debaters in the House, scribbled
a note as the young member sat down amid a storm of
cheering. It was passed along the benches. ‘ I am old,
and you are young,’ it said, ‘ but you have beaten me at
my own game.’

I did not come to know him till he was thirty-four. An
ardent Conservative, he was angry with me for leaving that
party on the Protection issue. His own father had been in
the ’eighties a keen admirer of Lord Randolph Churchill,
and had taught him to embrace not only the conceptions
of Tory Democracy, but to think kindly of one who had
done much to make it a living force in modern politics.

‘ F. E.’, to use his famous soubriquet, felt a strong antag-
onism to me for breaking a continuity. He did not wish to
meet me. It was only after the Parliament of 1906 had

148 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

run some months of its course that we were introduced to
one another by a common friend as we stood at the bar
of the House of Commons before an important division.
But from that hour our friendship was perfect. It was one
of my most precious possessions. It was never disturbed
by the fiercest party fighting. It was never marred by the
slightest personal difference or misunderstanding. It grew
stronger as nearly a quarter of a century slipped by, and it
lasted till his untimely death. The pleasure and instruc-
tion of his companionship were of the highest order. The
world of affairs and the general public saw in F. E. Smith a
robust, pugnacious personality, trampling his way across the
battlefields of life, seizing its prizes as they fell, and exulting
in his prowess. They saw his rollicking air. Acquaintances
and opponents alike felt the sting of his taunts or retorts in'*
the House of Commons and at the Bar. Many were prone
to regard him as a mere demagogue whose wits had been
sharpened upon the legal grindstone. It is a judgment which
those who practise the popular arts before working-class
audiences in times of faction are likely to incur. The
qualities which lay behind were not understood by his fellow-
countrymen till the last ten years of his life.

But his close friends, and certainly I, acclaimed him for
what he was — a sincere patriot ; a wise, grave, sober-
minded statesman ; a truly great jurist ; a scholar of high
attainments; and a gay, brilliant, loyal, lovable being.
We made several considerable journeys together. We both
served for many years in the Oxfordshire Hussars. We
were repeatedly together at Blenheim. We met and talked
on innumerable occasions: never did I separate from him
without having learnt something, and enjoyed myself be-
sides. He was always great fun; but more than that he
had a massive common sense and a sagacious comprehension
which made his counsel invaluable, whether in public broil
or private embarrassment. He fiad all the canine virtues
in a remarkable degree — courage, fidelity, vigilance, love

‘f. E.’ first earl of BIRKENHEAD I49

of the chase. He had reached settled and somewhat somDre
conclusions upon a large number of questions, about which
many people are content to remain in placid suspense.
Man of the world; man of affairs; master of the law;
adept at the written or spoken word; athlete; sportsman;
book-lover — there were few topics in which he was not
interested, and whatever attracted him, he could expound
and embellish.

But with all his versatility, he was one of the mo|t con-
sistent men I ever knew. His political action through all
the convulsions of our time was of a piece. It lay upon the
same plane and advanced through the same processes of
thought to the same end. He was always one of those
Tories who united pride in the glories of England to an
earnest sympathy with the wage-earning masses and cottage
homes. He dwelt with pride upon his humble origin, he
exaggerated it, and boasted of it. He exulted in the free
and civilized society which opened the most spacious oppor-
tunities to talent, however poor in gear or favour. He was
never so rigid a party man as was inferred from the uncom-
promising vigour and partisanship of his pre-War speeches.
The idea of a national party or government always appealed
to him. Indeed it excited him. His unswerving friendship
and admiration for Mr. Lloyd George dated from our attempt
in 1910 to form a national coalition to settle the Irish and
constitutional issues then at stake, and to prepare against
the European perils then already visible to many eyes. His
mind was never really sealed against a Home Rule policy,
provided that the rights of Ulster were effectively defended.
The latter part of his life saw many things accomplished
with his assistance which his heart had desired, or at least
which his mind had never rejected.

Twenty-two years ago when the first coalition was formed,
and I began again to work with the Tories in everything
but Protection, we found ourselves colleagues first in war
and afterwards in peace. For nearly ten years we sat to-

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

150

gether in Cabinet; and I can hardly recall any question,
certainly none of first importance, upon which we were not
in hearty and natural agreement. Most of all did I deplore
his absence during those years when it seemed to me that
the future of India was at stake. With his aid, I believe,
different and superior solutions might have been reached.

* w * *

For all the purposes of discussion, argument, exposition,
appeal or altercation, F. E. had a complete armoury. The
Jbludgeon for the platform ; the rapier for a personal dispute ;

3 the entangling net and unexpected trident for the Courts of
jLaw; and a jug of clear spring water for an anxious per-
jplexed conclave. Many examples are given by his son of
^his use of these various methods. There can scarcely ever
have been a more sustained, merciless interchange than
took place between him and Judge Willis in the Southwark
County Court.

A boy who had been run over was suing a tramway com-
pany for damages. F. E. appeared for the company. The
case for the lad was that the accident had led to blindness.
The judge, a kindly if somewhat garrulous soul, allowed
sympathy to outrun discretion.

‘ Poor boy, poor boy ! ’ he exclaimed. ‘ Blind ! Put
him on a chair so that the jury can see him.’

J This was weighting the scale of justice, and F. E. was
moved to protest.

‘ Perhaps your honour would like to have the boy passed
round the jury-box,’ he suggested.

‘ That is a most improper remark,’ exclaimed the judge.

‘ It was provoked by a most improper suggestion,’ was
the startling reply.

Judge Willis tried to think of a decisive retort. At last it
arrived.

‘ Mr. Smith, have you ever heard of a saying by Bacon —
the great Bacon — that youth and discretion are ill-wedded
companions ? ’

*F. E.’ FIRST EARL OF BIRKENHEAD I5I

* Yes, I have,’ came the instant repartee. ‘ And have
you ever heard of a saying of Bacon — the great Bacon —
that a much-talking judge is like an ill-tuned cymbal? ’

‘ You are extremely offensive, young man,’ exclaimed
the judge.

‘ As a matter of fact,’ said Smith, ‘ we both are; but»I
am trying to be, and you can’t help it.’

Such a dialogue would be held brilliant in a carefully-
written play, but that these successive rejoinders, each one
more smashing than the former, should have leapt into
being upon the spur of the moment is astounding.

Scarcely less striking, perhaps, is the fact that Judge
Willis went on giving openings for F. E.’s merciless wit.

‘ What do you suppose I am on the Bench for, Mr. Smith ? ’

‘ It is not for me, your honour, to attempt to fathom the
inscrutable workings of Providence.’

The same lightnings flashed from him on the public
platform — and sometimes in homely guise. At one election
meeting, a heckler was being rude to the candidate for
whom F. E, had been speaking. He listened with growing
impatience, and finally intervened to suggest that the man
should remove his cap when j>utting a question.

‘ ril take off my boots if you like,’ came a raucous shout,

‘ Ah, I knew you’d come here to be unpleasant,’ remarked
F. E.

On another occasion, in the crowning period of his life, he
was addressing a meeting in his old constituency. He said
at one point : ‘ And now I shall tell you exactly what the
Government has done for all of you.’

‘ Nothing ! ’ shouted a woman in the gallery.

‘ My dear lady,’ said Lord Birkenhead, ‘ the light in this
hall is so dim as to prevent a clear sight of your undoubted
charms, so that I am unable to say with certainty whether
you are a virgin, a widow, or a matron, but in any case I
\ will guarantee to prove that you are wrong. If you are
a virgin flapper, we have given you the vote ; if you are a

152 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

wife, we have increased employment and reduced the cost
of living ; if you are a widow, we have given you a pension —
and if you are none of these, but are foolish enough to be a
t^a drinker, we have reduced the tax on sugar.’

The spontaneity is the marvel. I should like to go on
quoting such hammer-strokes. Many of them are preserved
in the excellent ‘ Life ’ which his son has written. F. E.
was able, in any setting, as I can testify, to give an answer
which turned the laugh, if it did not turn the company,
against his assailant. People were afraid of him and of
what he would say. Even I, who knew him so well, re-
frained from pushing ding-dong talk too far when others
were present lest friendship should be endangered.

I cannot speak at first hand of his forensic success, for
I only once heard him address a Court of Law. I did not
think him so good in the House of Commons as upon the
platform or at a public dinner. He was only a compara-
tively short time — ten or twelve years — in the House, and
his character and style were formed upon other moulds.
Still, no one can contest his many remarkable Parliamentary
feats. He seemed to me more at home in the House of
Lords, and more dominating upon that assembly than ever
in the Lower Chamber. To hear him wind up a debate from
the Woolsack, speaking for an hour at a time without a
note, without a gesture, with hardly an alteration of tone,

( dealing with point after point, weaving them all into an
ordered texture of argument, darting aside, now here, now
f there, upon some retaliatory foray, but returning always
surely and easily to his main theme, and reaching his con-
clusion without the slightest appearance of effort; all this
constituted an impressive and enviable gift. For this gift
he was grateful. He rejoiced in using it. ‘ I always feel
best ’, he said to me, ‘ when I am on the unpinioned f
wing.’

He was good upon the platform because he understood
thoroughly the outlook, feelings, and prejudices of the

‘f. E.’ first earl of BIRKENHEAD I53

ordinary patriotic Tory man-in-the-street. This same
quality helped him with a jury. He could strike with
faultless accuracy the simple major keynotes to which the
full-blooded English father or husband or eager youngster
would respond; and he spoke with the greatest sureness
and freedom upon all the most delicate questions of life
and morals, sportsmanship and fair play.

But most of all I liked to hear him in the Cabinet. He
was a singularly silent member. He had acquired in the
legal profession the ’habit of listening mute and motionless '
hour after hour, and he rarely spoke until his counsel was
sought. Then his manner was so quiet, so reasonable, so
matter-of-fact and sensible, that you could feel opinion being
changed ; and promptly, as he warmed to his subject, there
grew that glow of conviction and appeal, instinctive and
priceless, which constitutes true eloquence. Often I have
thought of Mr. Pitt’s famous translation of some Latin epi-
gram, which if he were here F. E. would tell me — ‘ Eloquence
is like the flame. It requires fuel to feed it, motion to excite
it, and it brightens as it burns.’ In my experience he and
Mr. Lloyd George were both at their best in gatherings of ten
or a dozen men, every one of whom was well informed upon
the question at issue, and upon whom the effect of claptrap
in any of its innumerable varieties would only be disastrous.

I have said he was remarkably consistent in opinion. He
was more; he was persistent. In every affair, public or
personal, if he was with you on the Monday, you would find
him the same on the Wednesday, and on the Friday when
things looked blue, he would still be marching forward with
strong reinforcements. The opposite type of comrade or
ally is so very common that I single this out as a magnificent
characteristic. He loved pleasure; he was grateful for the
gift of existence ; he loved every day of his life. But no
one could work harder. From his youth he worked and
played with might and main. He had a singular power of
concentration, and five or six hours’ sustained thought upon

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

154

a particular matter was always within his compass. He
possessed what Napoleon praised, the mental power ‘ de fixer
les objets longtemps sans etre fatigue \ No doubt he presumed
often in his legal work upon his great quickness in mastering
a difficult field and getting to the roots. He was never
{ entangled in the briars of detail. I remember after he had
Uaken silk and was in the front rank at the Bar, how it was
the fashion in the Liberal Government circles of those days
to say that he had no real grasp of the fundamentals of the
law. I lived to see him take his place among the great
Lord Chancellors who have interpreted that marvellous
structure of English good sense and right feeling.

His son tells us of his becoming a Privy Councillor at the
Coronation in 1910. I think I had something to do with
that. I knew Mr. Asquith thought highly of him, and
liked his mind with refined professional appreciation. I
urged his inclusion as a Privy Councillor in the non-party
honours list. The author tells us of the curious reaction
which this proposal when made by the Prime Minister pro-
duced upon Mr. Balfour, then leader of the Opposition. I do
not think it was jealousy or fear of subsequent complications.
Mr. Balfour had his long-built-up ideas about how patronage
and promotion should be distributed among members of the
party over which he and his uncle had reigned for a genera-
tion. At any rate he opposed it, and in order to carry the
proposal it was found necessary to confer another Privy
Councillorship upon Mr. Bonar Law. This probably turned
the scale in favour of Mr. Bonar Law’s leadership, and may
traceably have altered the course of history. However,
it is always being altered by something or other.

Looking back, I think that the post-War years of the
Coalition must be regarded as the great period of F. E.’s life.
And there was nothing in it that became him more than
the part he played in the final settlement of the difficult
and dangerous Irish controversy that had distorted English
politics for over thirty years. The general public, and par-

‘f. E.’ first earl of BIRKENHEAD I55

ticularly that section of it which supported Conservative
principles, still remembered him as ‘ Galloper Smith and
one of the most bitter and able opponents of Home Rule in
pre-War years. The efforts he had made to secure a solution
of the Irish question on the basis of the exclusion of Ulster
were either not known or had been forgotten. Since then,
the Easter Rebellion had revealed the Irish Sinn Feiners as
striking at the British Empire in extremity ; and after came
assassination and terrorism.

F. E. felt that it was his duty to aid a final effort to
end the long, deadly, and obsolete quarrel. He took a
leading part in the negotiations with the Sinn Fein delegates.
He was one of the signatories of the Irish Treaty.

‘ I may have signed my political death-warrant to-night,’
he remarked, as he laid down his pen.

‘ I may have signed my actual death-warrant,’ said
Michael Collins.

The statesman and the generous, warm-hearted man were
again revealed in Birkenhead’s speech in the Upper Chamber
on the Matrimonial Causes Bill. His son regards it as ‘ the
finest speech of his life ’, and others have expressed a similar
judgment. Its sustained eloquence, depth of feeling and
vigour of thought and argument recall the great days of
Parliamentary oratory and the giants of debate. .

‘ I, my Lords,’ he said, ‘ can only express my amazement
that men of saintly lives, men of affairs, men whose opinions
and experience we respect, should have concentrated upon
adultery as the one circumstance which ought to afford
relief from the marriage tie. Adultery is a breach of the
(;artial obligations of marriage. Insistence upon the duties
v{)f continence and chastity is important; it is vital to
society. But I have always taken the view that that aspect
of marriage was exaggerated and somewhat crudely exagger-
ated in the Marriage Service. I am concerned to-day to
make this point by which I will stand or fall, that the morab
and spiritual sides of marriage are incomparably more im-

156 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

portant than the physical side. ... If you think of all
that marriage means to most of us — the memories of the
world’s adventure faced together in youth so heedlessly
and yet so confidently, the tender comradeship, the sweet
association of parenthood, how much more these count
than the bond which nature in its ingenious telepathy has
contrived to secure and render agreeable the perpetuation
of the species.’

‘ What ’, he asked, ‘ is the remedy open to a poor woman
who, when she married, gave up the pitiful pursuit by which
she had made her living until her marriage and, relying on
the marriage, is left penniless, and is left for the whole of
her life unable to identify her husband, unable to obtain
the slightest relief from the law? She is neither wife nor
widow; she has a cold hearthstone; she has fatherless
children for the rest of her life. . . .

‘ We are told that such a woman as I have described is
to remain chaste. I have only to observe that for two
thousand years human nature has resisted in the warmth
of youth these cold admonitions of the cloisters, and I do
not believe that the Supreme Being has set a standard
which two thousand years of Christian experience has shown
that human nature in its exuberant prime cannot support.*

‘ Those who have spoken in opposition to the present
proposal say with the best motives, but with malignant
results : “ We deny you any hope in this world. Though
an honest man loves you, sin shall be the price of your
union, and bastardy shall be the fate of your children.”
I cannot and do not believe that society, as it is at present
constituted, will for long acquiesce in a conclusion so
merciless.’

Thus he convinced the House of Lords. But the House
of Commons, under organized pressures, had other views.
To-day, after eighteen years, this question, witli all its
consequences to public morality and private happiness, has
reached a solution on the lines he boldly traced.

‘f. E.’ first earl of BIRKENHEAD I57

F. E. was the only one of my contemporaries from con-
versation with whom I have derived the fiame pleasure
and profit as I got from Balfour, Morley, Asquith, Rosebery
and Lloyd George. One did feel after a talk with these
men that things were simpler and easier, and that Britain
would be strong enough to come through all her troubles.
He has gone, and gone when sorely needed. His record
remains. It is not in every aspect a model for all to copy.
Whose is? He seemed to have a double dose of human
nature. He burned all his candles at both ends. His
physique and constitution seemed to be capable of support-
ing indefinitely every form of mental and physical exertion.
When they broke the end was swift. Between the setting
of the sun and night there was only the briefest twilight.
It was better so. Prolonged ill-health and deprivation of
all the activities upon which his life was built would have
pressed very hard upon him.

It must surely be an inspiration to youth to learn in the
career of the first Earl of Birkenhead, as from other figures
in these pages, that there is no bar of class, privilege or
riches in our island to prevent the full fruition of out-
standing capacity.

Some men when they die after busy, toilsome, successful
lives leave a great stock of scrip and securities, of acres or
factories or the goodwill of large undertakings. F. E. banked
his treasure in the hearts of his friends, and they will cherish
his memory till their time is come.

MARSHAL FOCH

MARSHAL FOCH

A SINGULAR degree of integrity and harmony pervades
the life of Marshal Foch. The drama of the conflict be-
tween France and Germany has fascinated the attention
of the whole world, and ruined the prosperity of a large part
of it. The life of Marshal Foch lay in the centre of this
drama. He felt its passions and its pangs perhaps more
intensely than any other human being; and he wielded
the supreme executive power in its climax and decision.
He was just old enough to serve as a volunteer lieutenant in
the Franco-German War of 1870 ; but he was employed with
troops so young and raw that they were never exposed to the
fire of the enemy. He saw, he suffered, he comprehended.
He could do nothing. The ardent youth in whose veins flowed
Gascon and warrior blood, whose keen intelligence revealed
the high issues, whose well-nerved sensitiveness responded
to every touch, was forced to be the helpless witness of
his country’s downfall. He was fitted in an extraordinary
degree to feel alike her agony and his own impotence.

But he was also fitted to nourish within himself those
deep and in some respects mystic forces which were the
resultants of his pain. Fortified by a simple, practical but
intense religious conviction, animated by natural love of
his country and focused by the highest forms of professional
military intellectualism, Foch from the year 1870 onward
embodied within the brain and frame of a mortal the spirit
which the French call La Revanche and which is ill-trans-
lated by the word Revenge. Ill-translated because in
this revenge there was no zest of spite or cruelty, no greed
of material gains or personal splendours, no desire however
deeply concealed to humiliate or maltreat the German enemy
o 161

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

162

— only a life-long wish and aim and toil to see the France
which had been levelled in the dust of 1870 some day restored
to her honourable seat. He began his career a little cub
brushed aside by the triumphant march of the German
armies to Paris and victory ; he lived to see all the might of
valiant Germany prostrate and suppliant at his pencil-tip. In
the weakest position he endured the worst with his country ;
at the summit of power he directed its absolute triumph.

Let us first dwell upon the most lovable traits of this
remarkable and, it may well be argued, predestined being.
His personal charm and deft address made its persistent
appeal to all with whom he came in contact. His fidelity to
his country, whatever its government or form of government,
and to his religion, no matter what obstacle it imposed
upon his military career, constituted for him an abiding
element of strength. His undaunted and ever-flowii^
combative energy, as a man in contact with other person-
alities and harrying remorseless detail, as a Commander
with a front crumbling under the German flail, was proved
inexhaustible even by the Great War. His power of cold
endurance was the equal of his energy. He preserved a
strict respect for the Constitution of his country, and for
the position of the Ministerial Chiefs of a system which was
certainly not his. He nourished an understanding, impartial
and detached we must admit, of the feelings of the allied
armies and countries gathered under his command, and lastly
a chivalry — all a soldier’s — to the ancient and terrible foe
beneath whose heel he had writhed and over whose head he
was in turn to triumph. When, after the hard terms of the
Armistice had been accepted by the Germans, prudent and
vigilant civilian counsel urged the immediate disarmament
of the German fighting troops, Foch exclaimed — ‘ They
have fought well, let them keep their weapons.’

* * * ^ * *

It is too soon altogether to measure the military stature
of Foch. We are too near to the event, and the event was

MARSHAL FOGH

163

SO Utterly different from all previous experience of war.
The conditions under which the highest command was
exercised in Armageddon bore no relation to those under
which Alexander, Hannibal, Caesar, Gustavus of Sweden,
Marlborough and Napoleon proved their fortunes. All the
pressures and all the strains were present in this modern age,
they were in fact so protracted as to become obscured, but
they did not approach the intense epitome of action which
was achieved in the great battles of the past. Compared
with Cannae, Blenheim or Austerlitz, the vast world-
battle of 1918 is a slow-motion picture. We sit in calm,
airy, silent rooms opening upon sunlit and embowered l
lawns, not a sound except of summer and of husbandry ^
disturbs the peace ; but seven million men, any ten thousand
of whom could have annihilated the ancient armies, are in
ceaseless battle from the Alps to the Ocean. And this does
not ^ last for an hour, or for two or three hours; it lasts
nearly a year. Evidently the tests are of a different kind ;
it is certainly too soon to say that they are of a higher
order.

I had made the acquaintance of Foch at manoeuvres
before the War; and during the struggle I came in contact
with him on three occasions which illustrated not inaptly
his chequered fortunes. The first was in 1917 when, though
myself out of office, I made a considerable tour of the French
front upon the courteous invitation of M. Painleve. This
was for Foch a period of eclipse. The reaction and re-
crimination which followed the awful slaughters of the
Somme and its disappointment had been finally fatal to
Joffre, and Foch as his fighting lieutenant had followed
him into disfavour. The brilliant part he had played in
the battles on the Marne and the Yser in 1914 had been
overlaid by the ghastly losses sustained by the French army
in his obstinate and ill-starred offensive in Artois in the spring
ol 1915. France shuddered at her dwindling manhood, and
turned to other leaders and new methods. Foch was assigned

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

164

a high advisory post in Paris, and it was here in a modest
office near the Invalides that he received me. Certainly no
one ever appeared less downcast or conscious of being at a
discount. He discussed with the utmost frankness and vigour
the whole scene of the war, and particularly those Eastern
spheres in which I had been so much interested. His
postures, his captivating manner, his vigorous and often
pantomimic gestures — comical, if they had not been fully
expressive — the energy of his ideas when his interest was
aroused, made a vivid impression upon me. He was fighting
all the time, whether he had armies to launch or only
thoughts.

I have elsewhere described my second meeting with him.
It was at Beauvais on April 3, 1918. Now he was Comman-
der-in-Chief of all the Allied armies. The disaster of March
21 and the bitter wisdom of the Doullens Conference had
forced Haig to propose and Petain, the French Commanjler-
in^Chief, to accept, his over-lordship. He had succeeded to
^ fearsome inheritance. A wide gap had been torn in the
Allied front ; the British Fifth Army was broken and largely
destroyed ; the French relief had not yet arrived ; only a
thin and ragged line of dismounted cavalry, of improvised
detachments from the schools of instruction and of ex-
hausted survivors from the disaster, stood between ihe
German advance and Amiens with its almost vital railway
lines. Farther to the south in the French zone Montdidier
had just fallen. Foch, with a handful of Staff Officers, his
‘ military family ’, and with an authority none too clearly
defined, had to demand further sacrifices from the British
and draw from Petain northwards the reserves which that
General always thought should be kept to cover the capital.
Certainly a terrible hour. I can see him now as, for the
benefit of Clemenceau and me, he described the situation and
explained with map and pencil, like a schoolmaster teaching
a class with a blackboard, the reasons for his confidence. He
showed how each succeeding day the wave of invasion was

MARSHAL FOCH

165

smaller and how the tremendous initial impulse was dying
away. Calm he certainly was not. He was vehement,
passionate, persuasive, but clairvoyant and, above all,
indomitable.

I did not see him again until the early autumn when the
German offensive had been decisively mastered, when the
tide had finally turned, when all was well and would un-
doubtedly be better. Now he was at the summit of power.
His word was law. French, British, American and Belgian
armies conformed with dutiful precision to the directions of
a victorious leader, and the German line rolled ever back-
ward before them.

But how grim was the ordeal he had passed through
between April and September ! He had had to put a strain
upon the British Army during the prolonged crisis of the
Battle of the North which the British High Command
deemed unfair, and which certainly was hazardous in the last
degree. When confronted with the fierce demands of war-
hardened Generals for a reasonable measure of French
assistance, he had uttered a series of his characteristic
phrases — ^ Cramponnez partout'" (Cling on everywhere),
‘ Jamais la reUve pendant la bataille ’ (No relief for tired
troops during the battle) . As to his own contribution — ‘ On
fait ce qu' on pent ’ (One does what one can). This was scanty
fare for the British Army, ‘ back to the wall ’, being battered
to pieces by vastly superior German forces. He doled his
reinforcements with a grudging hand. He drew every ounce
of life energy out of Haig’s struggling army. That army,
cruelly tried, did not ftiil. It won, but only by an inch. By
the most horrible sacrifices and exertions it held its own.
In consequence, the awful' question of choosing between
the Channel Ports, and keeping the union of the British and
French armies did not arise, and Foch’s boast ‘ I will give
up neither ’ {Ni Vun ni V autre) was in fact made good by
British blood. He rode a gallant horse nearly to death —
nearly, but not quite. It lived, and that particular race

l65 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

was won. And who can ever say he was wrong? On the
contrary, although we suffered so frightfully, we must now
proclaim that he was right. But the tension at the time
between the British Command and the Generalissimo was
extreme. After the Battle of the North had died down a
bitter sediment remained. The French, it was thought
in the highest circles of the British Army and Govern-^
ment, were using the unified command to throw a dispro-
portionate strain upon their chief ally. Terrible thought,
arising from knowledge, from intense suffering and cold
experience !

While the British Chiefs were in this mood an even worse
blow had fallen. The French centre was surprised at the
Chemin des Dames on May 27, and an enormous incursion of
the enemy followed. Four or five British divisions, all of
which had lost more than half their numbers in the northern
battle, had been asked for by Foch to fill a quiet sector of the
French front where they could rest and recuperate. These
mutilated, tortured units found themselves in the brunt of the
new onslaught and were almost destroyed. The disaster of
May 27, while it aggravated the stresses between the British
High Command and Foch, woefully undermined his prestige
in Paris. There always remained on his moral flank Petain,
a skilful, frigid, scientific soldier with the whole of the
wonderful machine of the French staff at his disposal. It
was known that Petain’s views differed on important points
from those of Foch.

The six weeks period from the first of June to the middle
of July, 1918, must be recorded as the climax of Foch’s ordeal.
So far he had nothing to show but a first-class French disaster
and a deep British sensation of ill-usage. His claim to
enduring military greatness must be founded largely upon
his conduct in this test. He could never have survived
if behind him there had not beenra being of a different order,
of equal courage and of even greater personal force. Cle-
menceau, the faithful and dreaded Tiger, prowlect the

MARSHAL FOGH

167

French capital and guarded from all subversion the authority
of the commanding Chief It was in this situation, depressed,
precarious, disputed, half undermined, that Marshal Foch,
faced by the new German offensive of July 12, did not
hesitate to overrule Petain, to withdraw the reserves which
stood between Paris and the enemy, and hurl them under
Mangin at the German flank. This decision, judged in its
circumstances and in its results, must ever be regarded as
one of the greatest deeds of war and examples of fortitude
of soul which history has recorded.

But all this was over now. The Allies were united, the
enemy were beaten, Foch was supreme and victory certain.
I find myself at his chateau on a lovely autumn afternoon
trying to win his enthusiasm for a vast tank programme
for the campaign of 1919 with a grave, quiet and courteous
gentleman who knew he had nothing before him but measure-
less success and immortal fame.

I had another meeting with him. It was in the War
Office, in 1920, after the War was over. The allies were
holding the line of the Rhine and occupying the Rhineland.
The British army, now reduced to small dimensions, sat in
Cologne. The French, for reasons which I cannot fathom,
and which may have been connected with some design for an
autonomy of the Rhineland, wished to garrison Cologne them-
selves, and move the British to a less important sector of the
front. They sent Foch to suggest this change tentatively in
the first instance to me. The illustrious Marshal unfolded his
case with some hesitation. He confined himself to considera-
tions of military convenience ; but as he proceeded I became
to some extent aware of what lay behind, and I found myself
hostile. The idea of the British headquarters on the Rhine
being shifted from the famous city of Cologne, after the
part we had played in getting there, did not seem at all
right to me. So I said when the case was fully deployed,
‘ Don’t you think you could let us all come home? ’

I remember noticing how the shade fell in successive

l68 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

veils over the Marshal’s noble, expressive and always kindly
countenance. Not another word was ever said upon the
subject. Our conversation continued agreeably. This was
the last time I saw him.

%

The magnitude of the events which Marshal Foch directed
is of course beyond compare in the annals of war. But it
will be found, I believe, as time passes, that the valour of
his spirit and the shrewd sagacity of his judgment were of
the highest order. Fortune lighted his crest. His peculiar
gift of obstinate combativeness which had gained his laurels
at the Marne and the Yser, when the only hope was not to
despair, led him to serious disasters in the offensive battles
of Artois and the Somme. In 1914 he had saved the day
by refusing to recognize defeat. In 1915 and in 1916 he
broke his teeth upon the Impossible. But 1918 was created
for him. In the first phase of the Ludendorff offensive no
one knew so well as he how to use every ounce of strength
to defend every inch of ground, and so to hoard reserves.
In the second phase, when the initiative passed to the Allies,
they had for the first time in the war not only the superior
numbers, but the cannon, the shells, the tanks and the
aeroplanes — in short the apparatus indispensable for a suc-
cessful advance. Then it was that the characteristic genius
of Foch attained its full and decisive expression, and with
cries of ‘ Allez ^ la bataille ‘ Tout le monde d la bataille
he heaved the mighty wave of allied armies, French, British,
American and Belgian, forward in vast, united, irresistible
attack.

ALFONSO XIII

ALFONSO XIII

To be born a king ; never to have been anything else but
a king; to have reigned for forty-six years, and then to be
dethroned ! To begin life again in middle age under
novel and contracted conditions with a status and in a
state of mind never before experienced, barred from the
one calling to which a lifetime has been devoted ! Surely
a harsh destiny! To have given his best, to have faced
every peril and anxiety, to have accomplished great things,
to have presided over his country during all the perils of
the twentieth century; to have seen it grow in prosperity
and reputation; and then to be violently rejected by the
nation of which he was so proud, of whose tradition and
history he was the embodiment; the nation he had sought
to represent in all the finest actions of his life — surely this
was enough to try the soul of mortal man.

The vicissitudes of politicians bear no relation to such a
trial. Politicians rise by toils and struggles; they expect
to fall ; they hope to rise again. Nearly always, in or out
of office, they are surrounded and sustained by great parties.
They have many companions in misfortune. Their work
with all its interest and variety continues. Politicians know
they are but the creatures of the day. They hold no golden
casket enshrining the treasure of centuries to be shattered
irretrievably in their hands. They are ready to take the
rough with the smooth along the path of life they have
chosen for themselves. Yet even politicians suffer some
pangs. Mr. Birrell, wit and sage, was thrown out of office
in 1916 by the events of the Dublin rebellion, and later in
the same year his chief, Mr. Asquith, fell beneath the pres-

171

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

172

sures of the Great War. Said Birrell, as he contemplated
this latter event, ‘ It must be very painful to him. Even
I, who only fell off a donkey [i.e. the Irish Chief Secretary-
ship], did not like it at all; but Asquith has fallen off an
elephant in the face of the whole British Empire.’ But to
be a king and then to be deposed — that is an experience
incomparably more poignant.

Alfonso XIII was a posthumous child. His cradle was
a throne. For a while during his mother’s regency phila-
telists delighted in Spanish stamps which bore the image
of a baby. Later came the cherubic lineaments of a child,
later still the profile of a youth, and finally the head of|
a man. A severe upbringing: governesses, tutors and a I
queen-mother drilled him in the kingly profession. The
education of princes is very exacting. Scholastic, religious
and military discipline converge to grip the boy. Teachers,
bishops and generals stand over every hour and every
path of the youthful life. All inculcate the sense of
majesty ; all emphasize the idea of duty ; all ingeminate ^
decorum. Real kings have a unique point of view. Not
even the most eminent of their subjects has the same
association with the life of the whole people. Lifted far
above party and faction, they personify the spirit of the
State. But that anyone so reared and trained, so surfeited
vdth honour, should grow to be a practical, genial man of
the world, with a noble air, but without a scrap of conceit
or humbug, proves that he was endowed at birth with an
attractive nature.

A delicate princeling brought up without the roughening
of public-school training, Alfonso steeled his character and
his physique by a life in the open air. His childhood of
conscious regality would have spoiled most children ; but
be sought to be a swimmer, a horseman and a climber.
He first practised mountaineering* by climbing up the side
of the palace at Miraiuar. Alert, wiry, and keyed to con- v
stant alacrity, his mind and his body corresponded to each

ALFONSO XIII

173

Other. He has never been soft or luxurious; his pleasures
have been those of a man, and his bearing always the
bearing of a king. His devotion to polo certainly changed
the Spanish cavalry officer. It is difficult to imagine the
Spanish army without his eager and courageous leader-
ship.

Alfojiso had scarcely reached manhood when a teacher
called Danger added his lessons to the royal curriculum.
In the dark underworld of Spanish politics there are
many secret societies to which the bomb and the pistol
present themselves with a hideous melodramatic attraction.
Everyone remembers the tragedy that marred and nearly
obliterated the royal wedding-day. The long, splendid
procession, the joyous crowds ; in their coach of state the
young king and the beautiful English princess who had
become his bride, the dark furtive figure peering from the
upper window, the small packet of monstrous power, the
shattering explosion, the street a shambles, scores of men
and women writhing in their blood, or smitten into death ;
the consternation and panic around the grisly scene; the
king, calm and cold as steel, helping his bride to descend
from the shattered vehicle, hiding from her eyes the awful
spectacle around ; the bright scarlet uniforms of the detach-
ment of the 1 6th Lancers sent from England in her honour
as they thrust themselves forward to be of aid — the whole
scene is stamped on the memory of the generation in which
it occurred.

But that was not to be the end of the day. The head
of the procession had already reached the palace. What
had happened to delay the king and queen? Presently the
truth was known ; and soon after, the royal couple arrived,
stained with blood but uninjured, and proceeded inflexibly
with the appointed ceremonial. It was^ not enough to
appear at the palace windows to reassure the anxious crowd.
The king must take an open motor-car and drive out un-
guarded and almost alone among the multitude of his

174 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

subjects, to receive their tributes of loyalty and thankful-
ness that he had been delivered from an appalling peril.
This was the spirit which was to animate his bearing in all
times of danger.

I first had the honour of meeting him when I visited
Madrid in the spring of 1914. He invited me to luncheon,
and afterwards he talked with great freedom and intimacy
in a small room near by. I had come to Madrid to play
polo, and in this way we met several times. One day
he asked me to go for a drive with him in his motor-car,
and we made a long excursion towards the Escorial. Here
the conversation turned on the anxious state of Europe.
Presently the king said, abruptly:

‘ Mr. Churchill, do you believe in the European War? *

I replied, ‘ Sir, sometimes I do; sometimes I don’t.’

* That is exactly how I feel,’ he said. We discussed the
various possibilities with which the future seemed loaded.
His deep regard for England was evident in everything he
said. Although nearly twenty years had passed since I had
accompanied the Spanish forces in Cuba, he presented me
with the war medal for that campaign before I left Madrid.

No one could be surprised that Spain preserved a strict
neutrality in the great struggle of Armageddon. The his-
torical barriers between Spain and the Allied and Associated
Powers were not to be surmounted. The deepest bitter
memory of the Spaniard is the Napoleonic invasion and
the agony of the Peninsular War. Even after a hundred
years there could be no unity of sentiment between France
and Spain. Gibraltar, though a faded cause of irritation,
still plays a part in Spanish thought. But the real hatred
was for the United States, and the final loss of the last
remnants of the Spanish colonial empire left an aching void
in the breasts of a proud race. The aristocracy were pro-
German, the middle classes anti-Frtnch. As the king said,
‘ Only I and the mob are for the Allies.’ The best that
could be hoped for was that Spain should be neutral in the

ALFONSO XIII 175

Struggle; and certainly she prospered by her abstention
from it.

The king told me of the other attempts upon his life.
One in particular I remember. He was riding back from
a parade when an assassin suddenly sprang in front of his
horse and presented a revolver at barely a yard’s distance.

‘ Polo comes in very handy said the king, ‘ on these
occasions. I set my horse’s head straight at him and
rode into him as he fired.’ Thus he escaped. In all theje
were five actual attempts and many abortive plots. The
acquaintance I made with him in 1914 has been renewed
on his many visits to England, and always he has made
me feel a sense of his vigilant care for the interest of his
country, and his earnest desire for the material welfare and
progress of its people. The autograph of King Alfonso is
a truly remarkable symbol. Experts in handwriting profess
to find in it deep resources of firmness and design; it
certainly possesses style. Yet few sovereigns can ever have
been less pompous. The gloomy, solemn etiquette of the
Spanish court has in its late master produced a modern
democratic man of the world, moving easily and naturally
in every kind of society. To separate the king from the
man, and public functions from the pleasures of private
life, was always Alfonso’s wish and habit. It has been
observed that this prince, the head of all the grandees in
Spain, was himself most often photographed in polo kit,
flannels or unconventional garb. The man and the scene
were rich in contrasts.

Nothing could rob the king of his natural gaiety and high
spirits. The long years of ceremonial, the cares of state,
the perils which beset him, have left untouched that foun-
tain of almost boyish merriment and jollity. When I met
him on one of his recent visits to London he had come
straight from almost the gravest political crisis of his
reign. He spoke of this with simple modesty and a kind
of imperturbable selflessness. But what seemed to fill his

176 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

mind was the St. George’s by-election then at its height.
The placards on the houses and motor-cars; the political
excitement of his many friends in Mayfair ; the exertions
of the Press . lords : the society canvassers and orators of
both sexes — all the hubbub and chatter aroused his genuine
interest. It seemed great fun, and a game in which he would
like to participate. He enjoyed prowling about incognito
and seeing and hearing for himself.

His conversation, grave or gay, is pervaded by a natural
charm and lighted by a twinkling eye. King or no king,
no one could wish for a more agreeable companion, and sure
I am that his popularity in the United States, were he to
pay them a visit, would be immediate and lasting. He has a
great liking for England and English ways, and this would
translate itself very readily into an appreciation of American
life and society. Certainly no figure could be less tragic,
more seemingly care-free than the astute statesman, harassed
monarch and hunted man. There recurred to my memory,
as I watched him, the officers home on leave from the
trenches of Flanders, happy in the family circle, dancing
joyously at ball or cabaret, laughing at the comedies of the
music-halls, without apparently a trace upon them of the
toils and perils from which they had come but yesterday,
and to which they would return to-morrow.

The troubles which led to the fall of the Monarchy in Spain
came slowly to a head. 'Their origin lay in the breakdown
of the parliamentary system through its lack of contact
with realities and with the public will. Parties artificially
disciplined and divided produced a long succession of weak
governments containing few, if any, statesmen capable of
bearing a real responsibility or wielding power adequate to
the occasion. The long, desultory warfare in Morocco — the
legacy of centuries — gnawed away at Spanish contentment
like an ulcer, with -stobbing pains •.of disaster from time to
time. There was not among Spanish politicians that strict
convention, which is a bond of honour in all parties in Great

ALFONSO XIII

177

Britain, to shield the Crown from all unpopularity or blame.
Cabinets and ministers fell like houses of cards, and gladly
left the king to bear their burdens. He did so without
demur. Meanwhile, the war with the Moors dawdled on
and the public grievance grew. It grew even in spite of the
riches and prosperity which neutrality in the great struggle
had brought to Spain. The obstinate, strong and intractable
forces of the Church and Army, and the, almost independent
institution of the artillery corps, confronted Alfonso with
another series of problems of the most perplexing character,
which acted and were reacted upon by the sterile confusion
of the parliamentary machine.

Only very great patience, skill, and knowledge of the
Spanish character and of the factors at work, enabled him
to tread his way through the kind of situation which Mr.
Bernard Shaw has illuminated for modern eyes in the witty
scenes and dialogue of The Apple Cart, Our Fabian
dramatist and philosopher has rendered a service to mon-
archy which never perhaps could have been rendered from
any other quarter. With his unsparing derision he has held
up before the Socialists of every land the weaknesses, the
meannesses, the vanities and the follies of the trumpery
Ifigures who float upwards and are borne forward upon the
J swirls and eddies of so-called democratic politics. The
sympathies of the modern world, including many of its
advanced thinkers, are powerfully attracted by the gay and
sparkling presentation of a king, ill-used, let-down, manipu-
lated for personal and party ends, yet sure of his value to
the mass of his subjects, and striving not unsuccessfully to
preserve their permanent interests, and to discharge his
duty.

How does Alfonso XIII stand as a king, and how does
he stand as a man? These arc the questions which we
must ask when a reign of thirty years of conscious power
hsis come to its close. The end was bitter. Almost friend-
less, almost alone in the old palace of Madrid, surrounded

178 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

by hostile multitudes, King Alfonso knew he had to go.
An epoch had closed. Are we to judge him as a despotic
statesman, or as a limited constitutional sovereign? Was
he in fact for nearly thirty years the real ruler of one of
the oldest branches of the European family of nations?
Or was he merely an engaging polo-playing sportsman, who
happened to be a king, wore his royal dignities with easy
grace, and looked for ministers, parliamentary or extra-
-parliamentary, to carry him pleasantly forward from year
to year? Did he think for Spain, or did he think for him-
self; or did he merely enjoy the pleasures of life without
thinking too much about anything at all? Did he govern
or reign? Are we dealing with the annals of a nation or
with the biography of an individual ?

History alone can give decisive answers to these ques-
tions. But I shall not slirink from pronouncing now that
Alfonso XIII was a cool, determined politician who used
continuously and in full the whole influence of his kingly
office to control the policies and fortunes of his country.
He deemed himself superior, not alone in rank, but in
capacity and experience, to the ministers he employed. He
felt himself to be the one strong, unmoving pivot around
which the life of Spain revolved. His sole object was the
strength and fame of his realm. Alfonso could not conceive
the dawn of a day when he would cease to be in his own
person identified with Spain. He took at every stage all
the necessary and possible steps that were within his ken to
secure and preserve his control of the destiny of his country,
and used his powers and discharged this trust with much
worldly wisdom and with dauntless courage. It is therefore
as a statesman and as a ruler, and not as a constitutional
monarch acting usually upon the advice of ministers, that
l;e would wish to be judged, and that history will judge him.
He need not shrink from the trial. He has, as he has said,
a good conscience. ^

The municipal elections were a revelation to the king.

ALFONSO XIII

179

All his life he had been pursued by conspirators and assas-
sins; but all his life he had freely trusted himself to the
good will of his people. He had never hesitated to mingle
in crowds or to travel alone, unguarded, where he listed.
He had found many friends in every walk of life and always,
when recognized, ovations and respect. He therefore felt
sure that he had behind him the steady loyalty of the nation ;
and having laboured continually and faithfully in its service,
he felt he had deserved its affection. A lightning flash lit
up the darkened scene. He saw aroynd him on every side
widespread, inveterate and, it seemed, almost universal
hostility, and especially, hostility personal to himself. He
gave vent to one of those arresting utterances, wrung from
him in this memorable period, which show the force and
quality of his comprehension of life, ‘ I feel as if I had gone
to call upon an old friend and found that he was dead.’
/It was indeed a withering episode. Explain it as you will
— the hard times all over the world, the political incapacity
of the monarchist party, the drift of the times, the propa-
ganda of Moscow — it was without disguise a gesture of
repulsion from the Spanish nation, piercing to the heart.

Everyone has been struck by the contrast between the
fierce, sullen aversion of the Spaniards for their king and
his remarkable popularity at the moment of his fall among
the democracies of France and England. At home all
scowls, abroad all cheers. Sovereigns accused of despotism
and driven from their thrones have been wont to receive
asylum in foreign lands; but never before have they been
welcomed in Paris and London with widespread^ spon-
taneous demonstrations of regard and approval. How shall
we explain it? The Spaniards, to whom democratic in-
stitutions carry with them the hope of some great new
advance and amelioration, regarded Alfonso as an obstacle
to their progress. The British and French democracies,
who already enjoy all these advantages, know more about
it. They regarded the king as a sportsman ; the Spaniards

l80 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

knew him as a ruler. The articulate forces in France,
Britain and, we doubt not, in the United States, were more
attracted by the character and personality of King Alfonso
than by the character and personality of the Spanish people.
They were surprised that the nation had not liked such a
sovereign. The Spanish people had a view of their own;
and that is the view that must prevail. Alfonso would not
wish it otherwise himself.

Men and kings must be judged in the testing moments
of their lives. Courajge is rightly esteemed the first of
human qualities, because, as has been said, it is the quality
which guarantees all others. Courage, physical and moral,
King Alfonso has proved on every occasion of personal
danger or political stress. Many years ago in the face of
a difficult situation Alfonso made the proud declaration,
no easy boast in Spain, ‘ I was born on the throne, I shall
die on it.’ That this was an intense self-prompted resolve
and rule of conduct cannot be doubted. He has been forced
to abandon it, and to-day in his prime he is an exile. But
it should not be supposed that this decision, the most painful
of his life, was taken only at the last moment, or under
immediate duress. For more than a year before he had let
it be known that as king he would not oppose the settled
will of the Spanish people, constitutionally expressed, upon
the question of republic or monarchy. After all, would any
modern king wish to reign over a people who did not want
him? If the General Election throughout Spain by a large
majority had produced a strongly republican Cortes, it was
understood on all sides that a Constituent Assembly would
have come into being. Then in the most formal manner
the king would have laid down his powers and placed him-
self at the disposal of the government desired by his former
subjects.

It was not to be. The actual crisis came suddenly,
unexpectedly, upon a false issue, as the result of mere
municipal elections into which the fundamental questions

ALFONSO XIII

l8l

ought never to have entered — elections, moreover, at which
the forces favourable to the monarchy had made no pre-
paration for effectual political action. Even so there was
a large monarchical majority; but no one waited for the
final result. The crisis came attended by every circumstance
of violence and affront. By his bearing throughout this
odious ordeal. King Alfonso proved that he rated the welfare
of his country far above his personal sentiments or pride,
and even more above his interests. The issue was unfair,
the procedure injurious. The means of armed resistance
were not lacking; but the king felt that the cause had
become too particular to himself to justify the shedding of
Spanish blood by Spanish hands. He was himself the first
to raise in the palace the cry of ‘ Long live Spain ! ’ He
has since achieved another remarkable pronouncement:

‘ I hope I shall not go back ; for that will only mean that
the Spanish people are not prosperous and happy.’ Such
declarations provide us with the means of judging the
spirit of his reign. He made mistakes, he made perhaps
as many mistakes as the royal or parliamentary rulers of
other great countries; he was as unsuccessful as most of
these have been in satisfying the vague urges of this modern
age. But we see that the spirit which has animated him
through all these long years of difficulty has been one of
faithful service to his country, and that he has been governed
always by love and respect for his people.

*****

And what lay beyond? What has Spain achieved in
the meantime? How many Generals who deserted their
Sovereign lived to face the firing squads of the Republic ?
How many of the ‘ advanced politicians ’ and high-browed
writers who hounded down the Monarchy are now exiles
and fugitives from their native land? How many great
Spanish newspapers whose leading articles proclaimed the
dawn of freedom are now ruined or gagged? How many
of the unthinking crowds who cheered the new dispensa-

i 82 great contemporaries

tion are now in the graves of untimely and violent death, or
mourn in cold privation the slaughter of their dear ones?
Nor is the end of the Spanish torment in sight. The Spani-
ards are tearing each other to pieces. There seems to be no
reason why they should stop, and every day less likelihood
that anyone will try to stop them. Many scores of thousands
of men and women of every class, rank, and calling have
fallen— not in the bold ranks of battle, but by murderous
execution or primordial butchery in the streets and fields
of the peninsula. But it is all going on, and with added
fury month by month. Hatreds and blood feuds multiply
ceaselessly. Each part of the nation feels that it can only
live by the extermination of the other. And whoever wins
may wreak a vengeance and impose a subjugation on the
conquered which in its turn would breed a new pestilence.

When all this has run its course, when the tally of human
misery and infernal crime has been cast up, may there not
be many Spaniards who will wonder whether , after all a
limited monarchy and a Parliamentary Constitution mutu-
ally protecting each other were not worth some patient
trouble to preserve or to restore? May they not soon regard
the reign of Alfonso XIII as a happy age— now gone, if not
for ever, at least for a generation? Should that mood come,
then the work done by the King and the peace he kept at
home amid difficulties now obvious to the world will win a
more just judgment than has yet been accorded.

DOUGLAS HAIG

DOUGLAS HAIG

Early in 1919 Lord Haig walked ashore at Dover after
the total defeat of Germany and disappeared into private
life. There was an interlude of pageantry, of martial
celebrations, of the Freedom of Cities, of banquets and
the like ; but in fact the Commander-in-Chief of the British
Armies in France passed, as he left the gangway and set
foot on the pier, from a position of almost supreme respon-
sibility and glorious power to the ordinary life of a country
gentleman. Titles, grants, honours of every kind, all the
symbols of public gratitude were showered upon him ; but
he was given no work. He did not join in the counsels of
the nation; he was not invited to reorganize its army;
he was not consulted upon the Treaties; no sphere of
public activity was opened to him.

It would be affectation to pretend that he did not feel
this. He was fifty-eight — an age at which Marlborough still
had four great campaigns to fight; he was in the fullest
enjoyment of his gifts and faculties ; he had been accus-
tomed all his life to work from morning till night; he was
full of energy and experience, and apparently at the moment
when he was most successful, there was nothing for him
to do; he was not wanted any more. He must just go
home and sit by the fire and fight his battles over again.
He became one of the permanent unemployed.

So he looked around from his small house at Bemersyde
beyond the Border and saw that a great many of his soldiers
and brother officers were in the same plight so far as work
was concerned, and that in addition many were stricken
with wounds, and many more were hard put to it to keep
their homes together. To their cause and fortunes then

185

i86

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

he devoted himself. They accepted him as their Leader
in the disappointments of Peace as in the bitter trials of
War. He acquired great influence over this immense and
powerful body of men. Alike by example and guidance he
led them away from all courses prejudicial or dangerous to
the State, and did his best to improve their material con-
ditions. He collected money on their behalf, he gave
personal attention to grievous cases, he trapesed about the
Empire weaving the soldiers of so many distant lands into
the comradeship of a victorious army. Thus he occupied
himself, and the world went on its way; and politicians
dealt with all the interesting topics as they arose, and
settled matters generally — or thought they did ; and
eveiybody seemed quite satisfied.

But we must understand that the great masses of ordin-
ary work-a-day people, when in their busy lives they had
time to think about things, wondered why it was that the
Commander whose name was linked with hard-won but
unlimited victory had no place in the hierarchy of the
State. However, they did not know what to do about it,
and he said nothing; he just went on with his work for
the ex-service men. This, though it cheered his heart, by
no means — once the organization was set up — occupied his
time or gave scope to his abilities. So the years passed.

People began to criticize his campaigns. As soon as the
war-censorship, actual and moral, was lifted, pens ran freely.
There was no lack of material. There was deep resentment
against slaughters on a gigantic scale alleged upon notable
occasions to have been needless and fruitless. All this will
long continue to be debated. However, Haig said nothing.
He neither wrote nor spoke in his own defence. Some of
his StaflF Officers without his knowledge published a con-
troversial rejoinder. The volume was extremely ill received
by the Press and the public. But neither the serious
criticism nor the unsatisfying defence extorted any public
utterance from Haig.

DOUGLAS HAIG

187

The next thing heard about the Field-Marshal was that
he had fallen down dead like a soldier shot on the battle-
field, and probably from causes that had originated there.
Then occurred manifestations of sorrow and regard which
rose from the very heart of the people and throughout
the Empire. Then everybody saw how admirable had
been his demeanour since the Peace. There was a majesty
about it which proved an exceptional greatness of character.
It showed a man capable of resisting unusual strains, in-
ternal and external, even when prolonged over years; it
/showed a man cast in a classic mould.

The qualities revealed by his life and conduct after the
War cast a new light upon his contribution to the victory.
One can see from a different angle and in a different medium
the strength of will and character which enabled him to
withstand the various intense stresses to which he was
subjected. With his front crumbling under the greatest of
German assaults, or with his own army collapsing in the
mud and blood of Passchendacle, with an Ally always
exacting and frequently irregular, with the Government at
home searching high and low for someone to replace him,
he preserved at all times a majestic calm. He lived each
day without departing from his convictions, or seeking
sensational effects, or courting popularity, or losing heart.
He was equally sure of his professional qualifications and
of his constitutional duty; and he acted at all times in
strict accordance with these definite conceptions. When
the news of frightful slaughters, often barren, and the ruin
of operations in which he had trusted, and for which he
bore the awful respdnsibility, were reported to him, he was
fortified by feeling that he had employed to the best of his
ability the military training of a lifetime, that he was doing
the duty assigned to him by the lawfully-constituted author-
ities, and that he was at all times equally ready to persevere
or to be replaced.

A selfless, dispassionate, detached equanimity ruled bis

l88 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

spirit, not only at moments of acute crisis but month after .
month and year after year. Inflexible, rigorously pedantic
in his assertion of the professional point of view, he never-
theless at all times treated the Civil Power with respect and
loyalty. Even when he knew that his recall was debated
among the War Cabinet, he neither sought to marshal the
powerful political forces which would have come to his aid,
nor failed at any time in faithfulness to the Ministers under
whom he was serving. Even in the sharpest disagreement
he never threatened resignation when he was strong and
they were weak. Amid patent ill-success he never in his
own technical sphere deferred to their wishes, however
strongly those wishes were supported by argument, by
public opinion — such as it was — or by the terribly un-
folding facts. Right or wrong, victorious or stultified, he
remained, within the limits he had marked out for himself,
cool and undaunted, ready to meet all emergencies and
to accept death or obscurity should either come his
way.

I had known him slightly, both in private life and in the
Army since I was the youngest of subalterns and he a rising
Major. At Omdurman and in South Africa we had served
on horseback in the field together. We met on a different
plane when I was Home Secretary and later First Lord of
the Admiralty and he commanded our first and only formed
Army Corps at Aldershot. Both on the Committee of
Imperial Defence and at the Army Manoeuvres I met
him repeatedly, and we always discussed war problems.
One remark he made to me at some Cavalry exercises
which I was watching in 1912 has always seemed to me
most revealing : ‘ This officer he said, speaking of a

Brigadier, ‘ did not show a sincere desire to engage the
enemy.’ The occasion was a sham fight, but the saying
was a key to his whole military outlook. Years afterwards
in the height of the War, speaking to him of a Naval episode,
1 repeated the expression with intent. His usually placid

DOUGLAS HAIG

189

eye lighted in a compulsive flash, and he repeated the
phrase^ with emphatic assent. ‘ A sincere desire to engage
the enemy.’ That was Haig. That was his message.
That was the impulse which he imparted to his troops
throughout his command till the last minute before eleven
o’clock on the nth of November 1918.

He presents to me in those red years the same mental
picture as a great surgeon before the days of anaesthetics,
versed in every detail of such science as was known to
him : sure of himself, steady of poise, knife in hand, intent
upon the operation; entirely removed in his professional
capacity from the agony of the patient, the anguish of
relations, or the doctrines of rival schools, the devices of
quacks, or the first-fruits of new learning. He would
operate without excitement, or he would depart without
being affronted ; and if the patient died, he would not
reproach himself. It must be understood that I speak only
of his professional actions. Once out of the theatre, his
heart was as warm as any man’s.

‘ A sincere desire to engage the enemy.’ • Woe betide the
officer — Colonel, Brigadier or high General — who failed in
that. Experienced, resolute men, with courage proved in
the crash of battle, were sent home at an hour’s notice for
refusing to order — not to lead, for that would have been
easier — their troops to certain destruction. Fight and kill
and be killed, but obey orders, even when it was clear that
the Higher Command had not foreseen the conditions; or
go, and go at once, to the rear, to England or to the devil.
That was the high-tension current which flowed ceaselessly
from the Commander-in-Chief, himself assailed on every
side, through more than forty months of carnage. All along
the chain of responsibility from Army to Corps, from Corps
to Division, from Division to Brigade and from Brigade to
Battalion, this ruthless and often inevitably blind force was
continually applied. And behind it all a man, a knightly
figure, modest in demeanour, humble in spirit, self-forgetting

igO GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

and far above vulgar ambition, just, merciful, humane —
such are the mysteries of human nature ! ^

Moreover, the fierce internal pressures, resulting from
such discordance, could find no outlet in personal action.
Napoleon and the great Captains before him rode on the
jfield amid their troops in the ardour of battle, and amid
ithe perils of the storm. How gladly would Haig have
welcomed the chance to mount his horse as he had done
when a mere Corps Commander in the First Ypres, and ride
slowly forward among the exploding shells ! But all this
is supposed to be forbidden to the modern Commander-in-
Chief. He is lucky if even an aeroplane bomb, or some
long-range projectile near Headquarters, relieves at rare
intervals by its physical reminder the inward stress of mind.
No anodyne of danger, no relief in violent action ; nothing
but anxiety, suspense, perplexing and contradictory in-
formation; weighing the imponderable, assigning propor-
tions to what cannot be measured, intricate staff duties,
difficult personal negotiations, and the mutterings of far-
distant guns.

But he endured it all; and with such impassivity and
matter-of-fact day-to-day routine that I who saw him on
twenty occasions — some of them potentially fatal — doubted
whether he was not insensitive and indurated to the torment
and drama in the shadow of which he dwelt. But when I
saw after the War was over, for the first time, the historic
‘ Backs to the Wall ’ document written before sunrise on
that fateful April morning in 1918, and that it was no
product of some able staff officer in the bureau, but written
with his own precise hand, pouring out without a check or
correction the pent-up passion of his heart, my vision of
the man assumed a new scale and colour. The Furies
indeed contended in his soul; and that arena was large
enough to contain their strife.

# # •K' «

Lord Haig’s executors were well advised to entrust to

DOUGLAS HAIG

I9I

Mr. DufF Cooper the presentation to the public of the late
Field-Marshal’s diaries.* He has discharged his task with
simplicity and candour ; and in a manner which it is prob-
able Haig himself would have approved. This is a manly
story, told in a straightforward way. No one who has read
Mr. D^fT Cooper’s Talleyrand requires other assurances of
his skill in narrative or of his literary competence and
quality. The reader may pass lightly over such incidents
as that of General Robertson (who had never himself at
any time led even a troop in action, and whose war duties
involved him in no more risk than many clerks) speaking
of the Cabinet as ‘ poltroons ’. He should also take at its
face value Haig’s disparagingjudgment of Mr. Lloyd George,
to which needless publicity has been given. Neither Haig’s
view of Lloyd George nor Lloyd George’s view of Haig
is likely to be accepted by history. They will both be
deemed much better men than they deemed each other.

Nevertheless, it is by no means {5roved that a general, or
indeed a statesman, coping with tremendous affairs, is wise
to write and still less to preserve a diary.* The reputation
of the late Sir Henry Wilson was grievously affected by
his devoted widow’s ill-considered publication of his night-
thoughts. When events are moving at break-neck speed
and upon a world-wide scale, when facts and values arc
changing every day, when all personal relations in official
business must necessarily be affected, when the view of the
diarist is subordinate or local, or both, the Commander
exposes himself to an almost impossible test when he writes
‘ an average entry for each day of two or three typewritten
foolscap pages ’, which when duly bound comprise thirty-
six volumes of diurnal commentary.

Douglas Haig embodied and lived up to the finest public-
school tradition. He was, in fact, at the time he became
Commander-in-Chief of the greatest army Britain had ever
achieved, the head boy and prize pupil of the military school.

♦ Haigy Duff Cooper. 1935.

192 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

He had done all things requisite and proper. He had
fought as a squadron leader, served in the field as a staff
officer, played in the winning cavalry polo team, graduated
with distinction at the Staff College, held an important
military appointment in India, commanded the Aldershot
division before the outbreak of war, and valiantly led the
First Army Corps and later the First Army for nearly
eighteen months of Armageddon. He had no professional
rivals at that time and none appeared thereafter during the
struggle. His realization of this was a strong prop to him
in the many ordeals, disappointments, and terrible dis-
asters which he had to face and endure. He might be, he
surely was, unequal to the prodigious scale of events ; but ')
no one else was discerned as his equal or his better. So it
all worked down to blunt, grim, and simple duty, in the
discharge of which one may indeed make many errors or
suffer grievous misfortune, but which has to be done and
which a man, if called on, has a solid right to do. Lastly
there was a strong religious side to his character, and he
had always cherished the belief that he was destined to
lead the British Army to victory.

Haig’s mind, as one would expect from the credentials
we have cited, was thoroughly orthodox and conventional.
He does not appear to have had any original ideas ; no one
can discern a spark of that mysterious, visionary, often
sinister genius which has enabled the great captains of
history to dominate the material factors, save slaughter,
and confront their foes with the triumph of novel appari-
tions. He was, we are told, quite friendly to the tanks,
but the manoeuvre of making them would never have
occurred to him. He appeared at all times quite uncon-
scious of any theatre but the Western Front. There were
the Germans in their trenches. Here he stood at the head
of an army corps, then of an army, and finally of a group of
mighty armies. Hurl them on and keep slogging at it in ^
the best possible way — that was war. It was undoubtedly

DOUGLAS HAIG

193

one way of making war, and in the end there was certainly
overwhelming victory. But these truisms will not be
accepted by history as exhaustive.

If Haig’s mind was conventional, his character also dis-
played the qualities of the average, decent man concentrated
and magnified. This is only a part of a general’s equipment,
but it is not necessarily an unimportant part. His be-
haviour did not crumple under violent external occurrences.
He was rarely capable of rising to great heights ; he was
always incapable of falling below his standards. Thus the
army, which was in fact our island race, gathered from all
parts of the world, looked to him with confidence through
many costly failures ; and the military hierarchy, very
complicated — almost a church — and in times of war of para-
mount importance, felt that in the Commandcr-in-Chief
they had someone on whom to rely. These are great
matters.

Until the summer of 1916 the British Expeditionary
Force played inevitably only a fractional role in the stupen-
dous Franco-German struggle. We dwell with pride on
Mons and Le Gateau, on the turn at the Marne, tlie glorious
defence of the Yser and the Lys, on Neuve Chapelle, and
upon our important contributory efforts at Loos to the
great battle in Champagne. These were times when our
fighting personnel was expanded far beyond our munitions.
We paid in blood and sorrow for the lack of cannon and
explosive. Sir John French, who is sometimes unduly
slighted by the admirers of Haig, bore the brunt of this.
We can certainly say that if the British Army had not been
upon the front, France would have been conquered. But
even at the end of 1915 we were but a sixth numerically,
and perhaps but a quarter morally, of the Allied Front. It
was not until the Somme in July 1916 that we became a
major factor in the vast land conflict. The next two years
shows the British war effort, casualties and will-to-conquer
as always equal to the French, and ultimately dominant,

H

104 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

It was over this period that Haig presided. No one can
say that it did not end in victory.

* ^c- * *

I saw and corresponded with him more frequently in the
last year of his life than at any other period ; and in a way
— though I cannot pretend to intimacy with a personality
so reserved — I got to know him better than ever before.
Curiously, but characteristically on his part, this arose out
of my writing a book on the War which, while it recounted
the great achievements of the armies he led, nevertheless
constituted a sustained indictment of the ‘ Western School ’
of strategy which he embodied. I asked him whether he
would like to read and comment upon the chapters dealing
with his operations, adding that if so I must show him
what was critical as well as what was appreciative. He
accepted the suggestion readily, saying ‘ Never mind the
criticisms. Let us get the facts right, and then people will
be able to judge for themselves.’ There followed a very
active interchange of notes and comments, by which I was
able to correct numerous commonly-accepted errors of fact.
Throughout he manifested an entire goodwill, and treated
the whole story from an impersonal and detached standpoint
as if it dealt with events of a hundred years ago. I under-
stood that this was because he was content with what he
considered justice being done to the exploits of the British
armies, especially in 1918, and that nothing afl'ecting his
own actions counted at all in the opposite scale. ‘ No one
he wrote in a final letter, ‘ knows as well as I do how far
short of the ideal my own conduct both of the ist Corps
and First Army was, as well as of the B.E.F. when C.-in-C.’

The nobility of this utterance in all the circumstances
enables one to measure from yet another angle the real
value of his services to the cause of the Allies.

But the greatest proof lies iivthe final phase of the War.
The qualities of mind and spirit which Douglas Haig per-
sonified came to be known by occult channels throughout

DOUGLAS HAIG

195

the vast armies of which he was the Chief. Disasters,
disappointments, miscalculations and their grievous price
were powerless to affect the confidence of the soldiers
in their Commander. When in the autumn of 1918 the
Government, often only too right before, doubted the
possibility of early success, and endeavoured to dissuade
him from what was feared would be a renewal of melancholy
and prodigal slaughter; when in the most invidious manner
they cast the direct responsibility upon him, he did not
hesitate, and the war-worn, five-times-dccimated troops
responded to the will and impulse of their leader, and
marched forward unswerving to the awful convulsions of
victory final and absolute. The soldierly qualities of Foch,
his wide range of vision, his vast and fine combinations,
could not have ended the slaughter in 1918 unless they had
been on several decisive occasions deflected or reinforced
by the entirely separate impulsion of Douglas Haig. Foch’s
famous war-cries, " Allez 0. la bataille\ ‘ Tout le monde d la
bataille \ would have carried no more meaning to history
than a timely cheer, but for the scries of tremendous drives
and punches with which the British armies from Amiens
to Mons and from the Somme to the Sclle trampled down
the Ibrtifications and the brave resistance of the best that
was left of the German military might, and spared mankind
the slaughters which awaited the unfought campaign of

1919-

If there are some who would question Haig’s right to
rank with Wellington in British military annals, there are
none who will deny that his character and conduct as
soldier and subject will long serve as an example to all.

ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR

ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR

Ramsay MacDonald, paying his tribute as Prime Minister,
said of Arthur Balfour, ‘ He saw a great deal of life from afar.’
There was truth in this upon the facts, and poignancy in the
mood of the orator. MacDonald had seen life at close
quarters. He would have liked to have viewed it from afar.
An unconscious sense of envy, wistful but not untinged with
pride, led him to achieve this just and pregnant remark.
Struggling all his life in the Labour-Socialist whirlpool, at
times hunted out of Parliament, and almost out of the
country, because of his association with anti-national forces;
always challenged, always harassed, enjoying precarious
gleams of success amid renewing storms of popular dis-
pleasure; here to-day, gone to-morrow; the champion of
causes for which he was sometimes sorry to fight ; now on the
tossing waves to the crest, now to the trough; Mr. Mac-
Donald could not but regard with admiring disdain the long,
tranquil, Olympian career of his fortunate yet defeated pre-
decessor.

‘ He saw a great deal of life from afar.’ Arthur Balfour
did not mingle in the hurly-burly. He glided upon its sur-
face. He was born to substantial wealth. After more than
fifty years of service he died with a reduced, but still adequate
estate, derived from ancient title. He was never seriously
worried about money ; he never had to face rfie problem of
earning his livelihood, or of paying the bills for the common
necessities of life. He had a beautiful home in Scotland and
a comfortable mansion in Carlton House Terrace, main-
tained automatically by a solid capital. This was his lot in
life. He shared the gradual, steady impoverishment of the
class of landed gentlefolk to which he belonged. Although

199

200 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

he lost a good deal of his fortune by an unlucky speculation
in later life, he never bothered much about it. His wants
were small ; his habit of life austere ; he always had enough,
and security for having enough.

Biographers of eminent persons are prone to ignore or slur
over these harshly practical considerations. They have their
value, however, in the career of any public man. Through-
out his life the late Lord Balfour, fortunately for himself, still
more fortunately for his country, was removed from vulgar
necessities. He never had to make any of those compromises,
increasing under modern conditions, between an entirely
dispassionate outlook upon affairs and his daily bread. This
was for him a great advantage and source of strength.

He was a bachelor. All that tremendous process of keeping
a home together and rearing a family, which is the main pre-
occupation of the human race, was by a romantic tragedy far
removed from his ken. Henceforward he was self-contained ;
he was entirely independent. His thought was national, his
interests were world-wide. That Britain should be powerful
and prosperous, that the Empire should gather more closely
around her, that she should be the champion of right and
peace; that her own ambitions and aspirations should fit
harmoniously into the requirements of an ever-widening and
strengthening Cosmopolis, and that he should play a worthy
part in all this, was his life’s aim.

He was in fact a lay-priest seeking a secular goal. He ac-
quired and possessed from earlier life profound and definite
conceptions ; and by a marvellous gift of comprehension and
receptivity he was able to adjust all the new phenomena and
the ever-changing currents of events to his solidly-wrought
convictions. His interest in life, thought and affairs, as Mr.
MacDonald observed, was as keen at eighty as it was at
twenty: but his purpose, his foundation, and his main
theme were obstinate, obdurate^ and virtually unchanged
throughout the memorable times in which he lived, played
his part, and even ruled. He was a man to whom without

201

ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR

commonplace extravagance ope might apply the word
* Statesman His aversion from the Roman Catholic faith
was dour and inveterate. Otherwise he seemed to have
the personal qualifications of a great Pope. He had that
composed, detached, uplifted mental and moral vision
combined with the art of dexterous and practical manage-
ment requisite for those who guide the course of permanent
societies. To the defence of his principles and prejudices he
summoned every resource of conduct, oratory and dialectic.
But he knew when to change, and not only when to change,
but how to change, in accordance with the pressures of
events. Holding to his own convictions, steering always by
the same stars, diverging only so far as was inevitable under
the thrust of adverse winds, he moved with the times, and
lived in the forefront of nearly three generations. He was
never stranded ; he was never out of date. He loved youth
and accepted, nay, encouraged its demands. In mind he
was always young, and yet he inspired the feeling that he
possessed the wisdom of the ages.

A taste most truly refined, a judgment comprehensively
balanced, an insight penetrating, a passion cold, long, slow,
unyielding — all these were his. He was quite fearless ;
but he had no reason to fear. Death was certain sooner or
later. It only involved a change of state, or at the worst a
serene oblivion. Poverty never entered his thoughts. Dis-
grace was impossible because of his character and behaviour.
When they took him to the Front to see the War, he admired
/with bland interest through his pince-nez the bursting shells.
I.uckily none came near enough to make him jump, as they
will make any man jump, if they have their chance. Once
I saw a furious scene in the House of Commons when an Irish
member, rushing across the floor in a frenzy, shook his fist for
a couple of minutes within a few inches of his face. We
young fellows behind were all ready to spring to his aid upon
a physical foe ; but Arthur Balfour, Leader of the House, re-
garded the frantic figure with no more and no less than the

202

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

interest of a biologist examining through a microscope the
‘ contortions of a rare and provoked insect. There was in fact
no way of getting at him. Once during the War when we
were rather dissatisfied with the vigour of Sir Edward Grey’s
policy, I, apologizing for him, said to Mr. Lloyd George,
who was hot, ‘ Well, anyhow, we know that if the Germans
were here and said to Grey, “ If you don’t sign this Treaty,
we will shoot you at once,” he would certainly reply, “ It
would be most improper for a British minister to yield to a
threat. That sort of thing is not done.” ’ But Lloyd George
rejoined, ‘ That’s not what the Germans would say to him.
They would say, “ If you don’t sign this Treaty, we will scrag
all your squirrels at Fallodon.” That would break him
down.’ Arthur Balfour had no squirrels. Neither on the
big line nor on the small line, neither by dire threats nor by
playing upon idiosyncrasies, could anyone overcome his
central will or rupture his sense of duty.

Such was the main impression made upon me by this
remarkable man whom I knew, and whose friendship, across
jthe vicissitudes of politics, I enjoyed in a ripening measure
during thirty years. We must now come a little closer to
him and meet him in the small events of life.

The Wykehamists have the motto, ‘ Manners makyth
Man ’. If this be so, Arthur Balfour was the most perfect of
men. He was the best-mannered man I ever met — e2isy,
courteous, patient, considerate, in every society and with
great and small alike. But this urbane and graceful air,
which was entirely natural to him and effortless, was the
least part of his manners, which were equal to every situa-
tion, pleasant or awkward. Not only was he never embar-
rassed or at a loss himself, but he seemed to impart this gift
in large measure to any company while he was among them.
He put everyone at their ease and sailed with them smoothly
through the most disconcerting and painful situations.
Whatever had to be said, he knew how to say it ; and when
others blundered into foolish or offensive remarks, he knew

ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR 203

how to defend himself or retaliate with point, justice or
severity. At the right time and in the right place he could
and did say with dignity and suavity any hard things which
were necessary. Such occasions were rare. He was always
the most agreeable, affable and amusing of guests or com-
panions ; his presence was a pleasure and his conversation a
treat.

He possessed and practised the art of always appearing in-
terested in any subject that was raised, or in any person with
whom he was talking. He had not perhaps in conversation
the vivid, vibrant qualities of John Morley, nor the brilliance,
often disconcerting, of Rosebery ; but he excelled both in
the pleasure he gave. His contribution was less positive.
He allowed the talk to flow as his companion wished,
appreciating in the most complimentary manner anything
that was said in good will, taking up every point, and lifting
the discussion step by step — yet often himself speaking very
little. All who met him came away feeling that they had been
at their very best, and that they had found someone who,
whether he agreed or differed, understood their point of
view. Very often they remembered the things they had said
to him, which he had welcomed or seemed to agree with,
better than what he had said to them. He loved general
conversation, and knew exactly how to rule it, so that no one
was left out, and it never degenerated into ‘ damned mono-
logue ’.

Politics, philosophy, science in all its branches, art, history,
were themes upon which he embarked as readily as Small-
talk. He seemed to draw out all that was best in his com-
panion. Put him next to a political opponent, a disaffected
supporter, a young lady in her teens, a schoolboy, a sea-
captain, an explorer, an inventor, or a learned professor of
any kind, and in a few minutes one observed an animated
conversation, rippling along with increasing zest and interest
on both sides. No one escaped his attraction. Everyone
produced his most valued mental treasures, and became

204 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

proud and delighted to have them so generously admired
by a man of such distinction. Yet he was swift to mark by
some judicious and upsetting question any departure from
truth, sense or taste as he conceived them. He would very
soon have put Socrates in his place, if that old fellow had
played any of his dialectical tricks on him. When I go to
Heaven, I shall try to arrange a chat between these two on
some topic, not too recondite for me to follow.

All his life he dwelt in circles of admiring friends. He was
for many years the mainspring of a society of brilliant men
and women known as ‘ The Souls who dined together,
travelled together and stayed constantly in each other’s de-
lightful houses. He accepted besides, invitations from all
sorts of people, never broke an engagement for something
more tempting, and left behind him a trail of satisfaction
and even happiness.

But underneath all this there was a cool ruthlessness where
public affairs were concerned. He rarely allowed political
antagonism to be a barrier in private life ; neither did he, any
.more than Asquith, let personal friendship, however sealed
and cemented, hamper his solutions of the problems of State.
Had his life been cast amid the labyrinthine intrigues of the
Italian Renaissance, he would not have required to study the
works of Machiavelli. Had he lived in the French Revolu-
tion, he would, when it was found absolutely necessary,
have consigned a dangerous enemy of his Government or
party or even an erring colleague to the guillotine with much
complacency. Bui he would have done it in a thoroughly
polite and completely impersonal manner.

It was thought by many students of politics that this side
of his character presented itself in his treatment of George
Wyndham. Wyndham was one of his greatest friends. For
many years they were bound together by every tie of social
intercourse and a political comradeship* which could unite
an older and a younger man. But the day came when
Wyndham as Irish Secretary had carried a flirtation with the

ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR 205

Home Rulers to a point which compromised the political
basis of the Conservative Party. It seemed to the public
that Balfour, as Prime Minister, made it clear that he re-
quired his resignation, and that he let him go into political
^extinction without turning a hair or lifting a finger.

But this widely accepted impression is contradicted by the
weight of first-hand evidence. Those nearest and dearest to
George Wyndham declare that the Prime Minister backed
him with the whole of his strength, that he refused time after
time to allow him to resign, and that it was only when in the
end Wyndham’s health and nerves completely broke down
under the varied stresses, and at the entreaty of his wife and
family, heavily backed by the doctors, that Balfour finally
accepted his resignation. Certain it is that Wyndham re-
mained until the day of his death Balfour’s devoted friend,
and that his adoring mother, Mrs. Percy Wyndham, never
vharboured for a moment a sense of reproach.

*****

Another much-discussed episode occurred at Mr. Cham-
berlain’s resignation in the autumn of 1903. Chamberlain-
had roused the long-slumbering but always living issue of
Protection in the guise of Imperial Preference, and had
thrown the Conservative Party into a most violent schism.
Balfour held it ‘ the unforgivable sin ’ to split his party.
He was wont to dwell with censure upon Sir R. Peel’s action
in 1846 and Mr. Gladstone’s forty years later, apart alto-
gether from the merits of those controversies: He therefore
tried, as other leaders. have done since, to keep the party to-
gether upon some central policy and formula which would
enable Protectionists and Conservative Free Traders to re-
main united in one organization. He set forth his views in a
pamphlet called ‘ Insular Free Trade ’, which broadly
speaking accepted tariffs for negotiatipn and retaliation,
but did not close the door upon the adoption of the more
full-blooded policy, if the feeling in the party should gradually
come to warrant it. But passions ran too high. The whole

2o6

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

country was agog. No one would talk of anything else.
The old text-books on Free Trade were taken down from the
shelves, and a hurricane of disputation raged through the
land. The Liberals found themselves completely united
in their opposition. An election was not far distant, and
threatened in these circumstances to be disastrous.

The Free Trade Ministers, Mr. Ritchie, then Chancellor of
the Exchequer, Lord George Hamilton and Lord Balfour of
Burleigh, felt themselves being drawn on from point to point
into positions contrary to their beliefs. They took counsel
together, and examined in some detail the possibilities of an
alternative administration and another Prime Minister.
The Duke of Devonshire, who counted for more than all the
others, and was the only possible successor to Balfour, was in
general agreement with them ; but he moved with character-
istic slowness, and from motives of delicacy had abstained
from all discussions about Cabinet-making. Balfour was
well-informed about the respective attitudes of all the dis-
sentients. He considered that, apart from Devonshire,
they had ‘ caballed ’ against him.

On September 9 Mr. Chamberlain wrote secretly to Bal-
four asking to resign his office in order to have full freedom in
explaining and popularizing his Protectionist policy. He had
in the ensuing days several conversations with the Prime
Minister when it was agreed that for the sake of keeping the
party together his resignation should be accepted. On this
basis therefore, known only to Chamberlain and Balfour, the
Cabinet met on September 14 and 15. The militant Free
Traders, who considered that Balfour was definitely on the
side of Chamberlain, tendered their resignations, and under-
stood, rightly, that these would be accepted. Devonshire
remained silent, but they assumed that he was acting with
them.

It has hitherto been widely believed that Balfour deliber-
ately concealed from the Free Trade Ministers the all-
important fact that Mr. Chamberlain had also resigned

ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR 207

and that his resignation was definitely accepted; that he
allowed a whole day’s delay to intervene for the resignation
of his three colleagues involved in the cabal to become
effective; and that only thereafter did he summon Devon-
shire to his room, tell him that Chamberlain had gone, and
invite him to stay. By this method, it was supposed that
he separated the Duke from his other colleagues, and was
able to persuade him to remain in the Government, and help
to counteract Mr. Chamberlain’s full Protectionist policy.
Such was the story.

This version should find no place in history. First of all,
Chamberlain actually resigned at the Cabinet — that is to
say, he said something to the effect that ‘ it would be better
for him to go ’ ; or that ‘ he must go His son Austen
wrote as follows to a friend of mine. ‘. . . I returned
from a short holiday abroad the evening before the critical
Cabinet meeting, and did not see my father until I met him
in Cabinet. I had, therefore, no knowledge of his letter to
Balfour, or of his intention to resign. / heard him announce that
intention at Cabinet, and I drove back with him to Prince’s
Gardens when the Cabinet was over, and reproached him' with
having taken this decision without a word to me, but added
that as he was resigning, I should certainly do the same.’

No one can doubt such testimony. It often happens, how-
ever, that when a certain amount of conversation is going on
between gentlemen, everyone present does not derive the
same impression from it. Especially is this so when some are
naturally preoccupied about their own positions. The Free
Trade Ministers certainly all left the Cabinet room without
the slightest idea that Chamberlain had resigned and that
his resignation had been accepted.

Balfour deemed it imperative to the unity of the party to
shed both Protectionist and Free Trade blood on the same
day. He knew quite well that none of the Free Trade
Ministers would have resigned had they known that the arch-
* Author’s italics.

2o8

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

champion of Protection was himself going into the wilderness.
On the contrary, they would have rejoiced to stay in and keep
him out there. But this was not Balfour’s plan. He sup-
posed that they had heard Chamberlain’s statement and had
tendered their resignations in the light of this essential fact.
He did not make sufficient allowance for the fact that what
Chamberlain said had a different significance to him, with
his unique knowledge, than to his dissentient colleagues. He
did not feel bound to inform those who had, as he deemed it,
caballed against him, of his own position. He reserved for
himself the right to deal as he chose with the various resigna-
tions which threatened him. Whether he should try to
persuade anyone to stay, rested in his opinion with him alone.
But then there is the question of the delay in telling the Duke
of Devonshire. On this point there is a complete explanation.

The Duke came away from the Cabinet perhaps under the
impression that Chamberlain had offered to resign in a half-
hearted way, but that his offer had been refused. Lord
Derby, then Lord Stanley, from whom I have this account,
was at that time a Junior Minister, Financial Secretary to the
War Office. He was the Duke’s step-son-in-law, and very
intimate with him. They drove down together to dine with
Mr. Leopold de Rothschild in the suburbs of London at
Gunnersbury. Whilst they were at dinner a red Cabinet box
arrived. The Duke turned to Lord Stanley and said, ‘ 1
have left my Cabinet key in London, lend me yours.’
Stanley of course was not yet entitled to possess a Cabinet key,
and said so. The box therefore remined unopened, and it
came back late that night to London.

The next morning Lord Stanley went into the Whips’
room at No. 12 Downing Street, and was told that Chamber-
lain had resigned and that the Prime Minister had accepted
his resignation. At luncheon Lord Stanley met by chance a
friend who told him that the Duke was very lonely and very
anxious, that his wife was away, that he had nobody to talk
to, and that he would like to receive a visit from him.

ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR 200

‘ I went ’ [writes Lord Derby] ‘ to the Duke’s house, and
found him walking about his room. He said, “ Of course I
have written to resign.” I asked him what he had given as
his reason, and he said that he could not remain in the same
Cabinet as Joe Chamberlain. My answer was, “ But as Joe
has resigned that is no excuse at all.” He jumped as if he
had been shot, and said, “ I know nothing about it.” It then
struck me that the red box the night before had contained
the information and that — so like him — he had never even
opened the box. He did it then, and found, as I thought he
might do, a letter from Balfour telling him that Joe had
resigned and hoping that he would stay.

‘ He was then in a great fix because he liad already sent
his letter of resignation to Balfour by hand. I volunteered
to go down and sec Balfour. At first he would not sec me
and was annoyed at being interrupted, as he told me he was
writing a letter to the Dtike saying how much he regretted
his resignation, etc. I told him he need not write the letter,
as the Duke was ready to withdraw his resignation, which had
been sent under a misapprehension. A. J. B. then asked
me to go and get the Duke to come and see him. This I did.
The Duke and I dined together in the evening and he told me
then everything had been satisfactorily arranged.’

These facts, stated, I believe, for the first time, show the
transaction in its true light.

When, on the i8th, Chamberlain’s letter of the gth and
Balfour’s answer of the i6th were published, the Free Trade
Ministers, whose resignations had been tacitly accepted, and
who had heard nothing more since the Cabinet, considered
that they had been unfairly treated by the Prime Minister and
also by the Duke. Public opinion at the time was general
that they ought to have been made plainly aware that the
Prime Minister had Chamberlain’s letter of resignation in his
possession, and that he had accepted it. Even the neutral
and colourless account in the Annual Register speaks of ‘ a
widespread impression that the Free Trade element in the
Cabinet had been reduced to conditions hardly compatible
with that mutual confidence which was assumed to character-

210

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

ize the relations between ministerial colleagues \ This is no
doubt true ; but it may be claimed on Balfour’s behalf, first,
that he had heard Chamberlain mention his resignation in
the Cabinet, and secondly, that he treated Devonshire as the
leader of the F ree Trade Group. He informed him in writing
immediately after the Cabinet of the decisive fact, viz. that
Chamberlain’s resignation had been offered, and more than
that, accepted ; and he left it to him, if he saw fit, to tell the
others. The Duke, however, could not open his red box
that night, and forgot about it the next morning, and so the
resignation of the three Free Trade Ministers became effective.
.This was, no doubt, what Balfour wished, though he had not
contrived it, and could not have foreseen it. He would not
in any case have made it easy for them to withdraw their
resignations, even if they had desired to do so.

For the moment, the Prime Minister had achieved by
management and by accident all his objects. He had got rid
at a stroke of the extremists on both sides of his Cabinet. He
had maintained his central rallying-ground for all the faithful
confided to his care, and he had kept the impressive and
ponderous Duke. The Free Trade ex-ministers in due
course complained in their published letters of resignation
that they never knew of Chamberlain’s resignation, whereas
it had in fact been accepted some days before the Cabinet
meeting. They now, of course, reproached the Duke with
having made a separate peace for himself upon terms not
communicated to the colleagues to whom he was bound.
The Duke, who cared nothing for office, but everything in
the world for his personal good faith, was consternated. He
had been flustered by the muddle about the red box, for
which he felt himself to blame. Now, however, he had
pledged himself to stay with the Prime Minister, and had
agreed with him upon the men and measures of the re-
constituted Government. He sought sanctuary, as Godol-
phin was wont to do, at Newmarket. Here he received a
series of letters from the Free Traders. They were furious.

2II

ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR

They considered, not without reason, that he had treated
them ill. Lord Derby writes to me :

‘ He showed me a letter from ... You never saw such
a letter in your life. It accused him of every crime under the
sun — breach of faith, dishonesty, every sort of thing. It
upset the old Duke very much indeed. He said to me,
“ To think I have gone through all my life, and then at the
end of it to have tlicse sort of accusations levelled at my
head.” ’

Thus assailed, the Duke did not know which way to turn.
For ten days he suffered acute distress. Then the Prime
Minister made a speech upon the Fiscal question. Never did
a Grand Inquisitor scrutinize more searchingly the utterance
of a suspected heretic than did this able yet simple old man
his leader’s speech; and to his immense relief- he found a
phrase in it which went beyond, at least in some of its im-
plications, the formula to which he had bound himself. He
literally hurled in his resignation, and almost rolled with joy
upon Newmarket Heath. All Arthur Balfour’s well-meant
house of cards fell to the ground; and the Conservative
Party drifted hopelessly forward to shattering defeat.
*****

It is impossible here to dwell upon Balfour’s part in the
complex and even more fateful Cabinet convulsion which re-
sulted in the substitution of Lloyd George for Asquith in the
crisis of December 1916. But nothing is more instructive
than to follow the dispassionate, cool, correct and at the same
time ruthless manner in which Balfour threaded the labyrinth
without reproach. He passed from one Cabinet to the other,
from the Prime Minister who was his champion to the Prime
Minister who had been his most severe critic, like a powerful,
graceful cat walking delicately and unsoiled across a rather
muddy street.

I must present a few blades from my sheaf of Balfouriana.
A comment upon a speech : ‘ Asquith’s lucidity of style is a

212 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

positive disadvantage when he has nothing to say/ A retort
on another occasion : ‘ In that oration there were some
things that were true, and some things that were trite ; but
what was true was trite, and what was not trite was not
true/ And again : ‘ There were some things in it meant
seriously which \Vcre humorous, and there were others
meant humorously which were serious/ Here is a remark
which when pessimists are prating I have often found
helpful : ‘ This is a singularly ill-contrived world ; but not
so ill-contrived as that/ Of a supporter somewhat over-ripe,

‘ He pursues us with malignant fidelity/ At a luncheon Mr.
Frank Harris, wishing to shine, blurted out, ‘ All the evil in
the world is due to Christianity and Journalism.’ Arthur
Balfour, contemplating this proposition for a moment, replied,

‘ Christianity of course, but why Journalism ? ’ Once when
I was very young I asked him whether he ever prepared his
perorations. ‘ No,’ he said, ‘ I say what occurs to me, and
sit down at the end of the first grammatical sentence.’

After the fall of his Government in 1905 he used to come
occasionally to small dinners of his young friends and former
House of Commons colleagues who had left him, some of
whom had attacked him fiercely in all the horseplay of
English politics. He had been swept from power by an
enormous vote of the nation. He had scarcely a hundred
followers in the House of Commons, and of these three parts
were rabid Protectionists who owed him a grudge. H^ was
always at his best on these occasions. Although outside,
the fiercest storms of party faction blew, no one would have
supposed, as the talk ran on, that we were not all members of
the same party or even colleagues in the same Government.
We touched one night upon the topic of whether public men
should read newspaper comments about themselves, and in
particular whether they should subscribe to a press-cutting
agency, t said I always did this: •‘one need not read the
flattery, of which there was none too much in my experience,
but now and then skimming through a bundle of press-

ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR 213

cuttings one saw something which was useful to a depart-
mental chief by opening his eyes to some scandal or grievance,
or by warning him of some dangerous line of criticism of
which he was not aware. ‘ I have never said ‘ A. J. B.’
(to use the famous initials by which he was so often named),

‘ put myself to the trouble of rummaging an immense
rubbish-heap on the problematical chance of discovering a
cigar-end.’ For a long time he made it his boast that he
never read the newspapers; and for a long time this was
accounted to him as a virtue. But the newspapers won in
the end. He lived to enter upon the age when almost the
only robustly-assertive institution in our society was the
Press. At length he was scolded for not keeping in touch
with public opinion; in the end he had to read the news-
papers ; but he read them as little as he could.

He had many habits which conserved his vigour. He never
answered an invitation except by telegram. People were
glad to have an answer quickly, and regarded a telegram as a
mark of consideration. Thirty years ago the arrival of the
pale orange envelope made our fathers and mothers sit up ;
if it did not contain bad news, they took it as a compliment ;
so all was well at that end. On the other hand, you could
dictate a telegram instead of having to write with your own
hand a ceremonious letter.

He very rarely rose before luncheon. He rested in bed,,
unapproachable, transacting business, reading, writing,
ruminating, and at week-ends appeared, whatever the crisis,
composed and fresh shortly after one p.m. His work for the
day was done; he seemed care-free, even at the head of Hi
tottering Government, even in the darkest hours of the War.
He would sit and talk gaily for a half-hour after luncheon ;
he hoped to be able to play a round of golf or in later years
lawn tennis. Uninstructed persons who saw him thus in
private life, while the newspapers growled in double-headed
columns about the political situation, were surprised and
even scandalized. They thought he did not care or did not

214 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

reck. But he had often been at his affairs since dawn. He
was never excited, and in the House of Commons was very
hard indeed to provoke. I tried often and often, and only
on a few occasions, which I prefer to forget, succeeded in
seriously annoying him in public debate.

In the main the House of Commons was his world. There
lay the practical interests and movement of his life. For more
than a quarter of a century he led the Government or the
Opposition. No Minister in charge of a Bill ever worked
harder, or was more thoroughly conversant with all the
essentials of the legislation he was proposing. He never
floundered in detail, for he had minutely and patiently studied
every aspect and possible pitfall of any measure for the con-
duct of which he was responsible. As Leader it was his custom
to wind up almost every important debate himself. He spoke
usually for an hour, having perhaps four or five points with
their subheads, embodied in thirty or forty words, jotted down
upon two long envelopes. Within these limits he allowed
his thought to flow. Often he paused to choose the word
which fitted his meaning best. At such times the assembly
joined him sympathetically in the search. It was as if he
had dropped his eyeglasses when reading an important
despatch. Everyone, friend and foe, was anxious to recover
them for him. All were delighted when he found them
himself in his top right-hand waistcoat-pocket. Out came
the right word, amid loud cheers or loud howls and general
satisfaction. This faculty of enlisting the whole audience,
both sides alike, in the delivery of his speech was a potent
gift ; and as far as speech can influence opinion or votes, he
swayed the House of Commons.

Curiously enough this most easy, sure and fluent of
speakers was the most timid, laborious of writers. He would
go to a meeting of ten thousand people when every kind of
consequence hung upon his words and their reception, with
a preparation often completed by a conversation upon im-
portant points in the cab that drove him there. Once he saw

ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR 215

in his mind’s eye a reasoned proposition, lie was certain he
could unfold it intelligently and with distinction ; but when
he took up the pen, ‘ he came all over of a tremble and
crossed and transposed and re-wrote to an amazing extent.
He would spend hours upon a paragraph and days upon an
article. This was a strange inversion. The spoken word,
uttered from the summit of power, gone beyond recall, had
no terrors for him ; but he entered the tabernacles of litera-
ture under a double dose of the humility and awe which are
proper. He was sure of the movement of his thought ; he
was shy in the movement of his pen. The history of every '
country abounds with brilliant and ready writers who have
quailed and faltered when called upon to compose in public,
or who have shrunk altogether from the ordeal. Balfour
was the reverse example, and in this lies a considerable
revelation of his character. His was a mind to weigh and
balance, to see both sides, especially all the flaws and all the
faults in his own case. The emergency and compulsion of
public speech forced upon him at a high rate of speed the
exposition of his thought. His mind was in action and every
second he had to take mental decisions; but in his bedroom
with his writing-pad on his lap and fountain-pen poised
judicially over the blank sheet of paper, a score of arguments
against every case and against every phrase and almost every
word paraded themselves and marched and counter-marched
before his speculative gaze. Everything he wrote was upon
a high level; but its excellence was purchased by incon-
ceivable labour.

It followed that in politics he decided more easily upon
great matters than upon small. He was more effective
upon large general issues, than upon the definite adminis-
trative decisions required from high executive officers in
a continuous stream during periods of disturbance. He was
not good at giving orders; and there are times when the
giving of many orders, clearly expressed, harmoniously
related, is a desirable gift in a ruler. He abhorred plunging ;

2i6 great contemporaries

but in war-time, at any rate, chiefs often have to plunge.
He hated committing himself without full and thorough
knowledge; but in violent times many most important
things have to be done on imperfect and uncertain informa-
tion, and flair based on previous study is often the safest
guide. One day in 1918 when the Supreme Council of the
Allies sat at Versailles in sound and almost in range of the
German guns, he spoke for ten minutes upon a difficult
question, and when he had finished, old Clemenceau turned
his twinkling eyes upon him and abruptly inquired, ‘ Pour ou
contre ? ’ His type of mind found itself at home in choosing
principles and judging the proportions of world affairs. He
expected to have at his disposal competent persons of a lower
grade who were able to translate his almost invariably sound
conceptions into practical action.

3|e }|c :ic

This is not the place in which to deal with the many
memorable acts of policy for which he was largely respon-
sible, and I will merely select a few of the chief. All his early
life was spent in resisting Home Rule for Ireland. As Irish
Secretary and afterwards as leader of the House of Commons,
he laboured to govern Ireland justly, firmly and beneficently.
His overthrow in 1905 left Ireland more politically acquies-
cent, and her people better off in every way, than ever before
or since. From the moment, however, that Ulster was estab-
lished as a self-governing province, he concerned himself
much less with the fortunes and destiny of Southern Ireland.
Indeed I think he would not have been distressed had the
Irish Free State been excluded altogether from the British
Empire. He always regarded such exclusion as the final
resource at the disposal of Great Britain.

When the United States declared war on Spain over the
prolonged disturbances in Cuba, Balfour happened to be
temporarily in charge of the Foreign Office. The friendship
of Great Britain and Spain was old and valued. No dispute

ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR 217

of any kind had separated the two countries which had fought
side by side against Napoleon. Balfour’s root-conviction,
perhaps his strongest conviction, was that the English-
speaking peoples of the world must stand together. He
therefore in a single night reversed the mild Spanish sympa-
thies of the Foreign Office and transformed cold neutrality
into a markedly friendly attitude towards the United States.
The Spaniards have long memories, and I was not at all sur-
prised when, in the Great War, they showed themselves ex-
tremely frigid towards a combination which included the
descendants of the Napoleonic invaders, the United States
who had stripped them of the last vestiges of their colonial
Empire, and Great Britain with whom no Spanish friendship
seemed to them to count, and who still held Gibraltar.
Nevertheless Balfour’s decision has stood the test of time.

In the black week of the South African War, which seemed
in those days quite a serious crisis, Balfour was fully equal
to the occasion. He was the only Minister in London when
Sir Redvers Buller’s telegram arrived proposing to abandon
the relief of Ladysmith, and that this town with its im- ,
portant garrison should fire off its ammunition and c%pitulate.
Without waiting to consult his uncle, the Prime Minister, or
his colleagues, he curtly told Bullcr to persevere in the relief
of Ladysmith or hand over the command of the army and
come home. Ladysmith was relieved.

I played some part in the events which brought him to the
head of the Admiralty in the Great War. After he had
ceased to be Leader of the Conservative Party in 1911, and 5
while the shadow of approaching danger hung over us, I :
induced the Prime Minister, Mr. Asquith, to make him a
permanent member of the Committee of Imperial Defence.

I felt intensely the need of his judgment upon the life-and-
death naval and military questions of those anxious years.

I wished to be able to talk over with him every aspect of the
German Peril with that freedom in secret matters which can
only spring, and ought only to spring, from a public, official

2i8

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

connexion. When the War broke out I associated him as
much as possible with the progress of Admiralty affairs, and
as everyone knows he was a convinced supporter of the enter-
prise against the Dardanelles. Therefore I was very glad,
when I had to leave the Admiralty myself, that this operation,
then in its throes, should be pursued by him. He resolutely
persevered.

Still, an administrative and directly executive post like the
Admiralty was not the sphere best suited to his nature and
habit of mind. It was when he was transferred to the
Foreign Office that his memorable share in the struggle began.
His visit to Washington, when the United States entered the
War, revealed him at his very best. Never has England had
a more persuasive or commanding ambassador and pleni-
potentiary. After the War, he rescued the Peace Conference
from sinking into voluble fatuity during those critical weeks
when both President Wilson and Mr. Lloyd George were re-
called home by the exigencies of domestic politics. For the
rest, there is the Zionist declaration and the Balfour note upon
Inter-Allied debts. These decisions, from which he never
departed, are still too much in the area of current controversy
for a final or impartial judgment to be attempted.

Amid universal goodwill and wide-spread affection he
celebrated triumphantly his eightieth birthday. But there-
after hungry Time began to revenge itself upon one who
had so long disdained its menace. He became an invalid.
His body was stricken; but his mind retained, almost to the
very end, its clear, tranquil outlook upon the human scene,
and its inexhaustible pleasure in the processes of thought.

I had the privilege of visiting him several times during the
last months of his life. I saw with grief the approaching de-
parture, and — for all human purposes — extinction, of a being
high-uplifted above the common run. As I observed him re-
garding with calm, firm and cheerful gaze the approach of
Death, I felt how foolish the Stoics were to make such a fuss
about an event so natural and so indispensable to mankind.

ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR SIQ

But I felt also the tragedy which robs the world of all the
wisdom and treasure gathered in a great man’s life and ex-
perience, and hands the lamp to some impetuous and un-
tutored stripling, or lets it fall shivered into fragments upon
the ground.

HITLER AND HIS CHOICE, 1935

HITLER AND HIS CHOICE

It is not possible to form a just judgment of a public figure
who has attained the enormous dimensions of Adolf
Hitler until his life-work as a whole is before us. Although
no subsequent political action can condone wrong deeds,
history is replete with examples of men who have risen to
power by employing stern, grim, and even frightful methods,
but who, nevertheless, when their life is revealed as a whole,
have been regarded as great figures whose lives have
enriched the story of mankind. So may it be with Hitler.

Such a final view is not vouchsafed to us to-day.* We
cannot tell whether Hitler will be the man who will once
again let loose upon the world another war in which civiliza-
tion will irretrievably succumb, or whether he will go down
in history as the man who restored honour and peace of
mind to the great Germanic nation and brought it back
serene, helpful and strong, to the forefront of the European
family circle. It is on this mystery of the future that history
will pronounce. It is enough to say that both possibilities
are open at the present moment. If, because the story is
unfinished, because, indeed, its most fateful chapters have
yet to be written, we are forced to dwell upon the darker
side of his work and creed, we must never forget nor cease to
hope for the bright alternative.

Adolf Hitler was the child of the rage and grief of a
mighty empire and race which had suffered overwhelming
defeat in war. He it was who exorcized the spirit of despair
from the German mind by substituting the not less baleful
but far less morbid s[)irit of revenge. When the terrible

* Written in 1935.

223

224 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

German armies, which had held half Europe in their grip,
recoiled on every front, and sought armistice from those
upon whose lands even then they still stood as invaders ;
when the pride and will-power of the Prussian race broke
into surrender and revolution behind the fighting lines;
when that Imperial Government, which had been for more
than fifty fearful months the terror of almost all nations,
collapsed ignominiously, leaving its loyal faithful subjects
defenceless and disarmed before the wrath of the sorely-
wounded, victorious Allies ; then it was that one corporal,
a former Austrian house-painter, set out to regain all.

In the fifteen years that have followed this resolve he has
succeeded in restoring Germany to the most powerful
position in Europe, and not only has he restored the position
of his country, but he has even, to a very large extent,
reversed the results of the Great War. Sir John Simon
said at Berlin, that, as Foreign Secretary, he made no dis-
tinction between victors and vanquished. Such distinctions,
indeed, still exist, but the vanquished are in process of
becoming the victors, and the victors the vanquished.
When Hitler began, Germany lay prostrate at the feet of
the Allies. He may yet see the day when what is left of
Europe will be prostrate at the feet of Germany. What-
ever else may be thought about these exploits, they are
certainly among the most remarkable in the whole history
of the world.

Hitler’s success, and, indeed, his survival as a political
force, would not have been possible but for the lethargy
and folly of the French and British Governments since the
War, and especially in the last three years.* No sincere
attempt was made to come to terms with the various moder-
ate governments of Germany which existed under a parlia-
mentary system. For a long time the French pursued the
absurd delusion that they could "Extract vast indemnities
from the Germans in order to compensate them for the

«

* 932 - 35 -

HITLER AND HIS CHOICE 225

devastation of the War. Figures of reparation payments
were adopted, not only by the French but by the British,
which had no relation whatever to any process which exists,
or could ever be devised, of transferring wealth from one
community to another. To enforce submission to these
senseless demands, French armies actually reoccupied the
Ruhr in 1923. To recover even a tenth of what was origin-
ally demanded, an inter-allied board, presided over by an
able American, supervised the internal finances of Germany
for several years, thus renewing and perpetuating the
utmost bitterness in the minds of the defeated nation. In
fact, nothing was gained at the cost of all this friction;
for, although the Allies extracted about one thousand million
pounds’ worth of assets from the Germans, the United
States, and to a lesser extent Great Britain, lent Germany
at the same time over two thousand millions. Yet, while
the Allies poured their wealth into Germany to build her
up and revive her life and industry, the only results were an
increasing resentment and the loss of their money. Even
while Germany was receiving great benefits by the loans
which were made to her. Hitler’s movement gained each
week life and force from irritation at Allied interference.

I have always laid down the doctrine that the redress of
the grievances of the vanquished should precede the dis-
armament of the victors. Little was done to redress the
grievances of the treaties of Versailles and Trianon. Hitler
in his campaign could point continually to a number of
minor anomalies and . racial injustices in the territorial
arrangements of Europe, which fed the fires on which he
lived. At the same time, the English pacifists, aided from
a safe distance by their American prototypes, forced the
process of disarmament into the utmost prominence. Year
after year, without the slightest regard to the realities of
the world, the Disarmament Commission explored innumer-
able schemes for reducing the armaments of the Allies, none
of which was pursued with any sincerity by any country

X

226 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

except Great Britain. The United States continued to
make great developments in ^ her army, navy and air
force. France, deprived of the promised United States
guarantee and confronted with the gradual revival of
Geririany with its tremendous military population, natur-
ally refused to reduce her defences below the danger-point.
Italy, for other reasons, increased her armaments. Only
England cut her defences by land and sea far below the
safety level, and appeared quite unconscious of the new
peril which was developing in the air.

Meanwhile the Germans, principally under the Briining
Government, began their great plans to regain their armed
power. These were pressed forward by every channel.
Air-sport and commercial aviation became a mere cloak
behind which a tremendous organization for the purposes
of air war was spread over every part of Germany. The
German General Staff, forbidden by the treaty, grew year
by year to an enormous size under the guise of the State
guidance of industry. All the factories of Germany were
prepared in incredible detail to be turned to war production.
These preparations, although assiduously concealed, were
nevertheless known to the Intelligence departments both
of France and Great Britain. But nowhere in cither of
these governments was there the commanding power either
to call Germany to a halt or to endeavour to revise the
treaties, or better still both. The first course would have
been quite safe and easy, at any rate until the end of 1931,
but at that time Mr. MacDonald and his colleagues were
still contenting themselves with uttering high-sounding
platitudes upon the blessings of peace and gaining the
: applause of well-meaning but ill-informed majorities through-
out our island. Even as late as 1932 the greatest pressure
was put by the British Government upon France to reduce
her armed strength, when at the came time the French knew
that immense preparations were going forward in all parts of
Germany. I explained and exposed the follies of this pro-

HITLER AND HIS CHOICE* 227

cess repeatedly and in detail in the House of Commons.
Eventually, all that came out of the Disarmament Con-
ferences was the Re-armament of Germany.

While all these formidable transformations were occurring
in Europe, Corporal Hitler was fighting his long, wearing
battle for the German heart. The story of that struggle
cannot be read without admiration for the courage, the
perseverance, and the vital force which enabled him to
challenge, defy, conciliate, or overcome, all the authorities
or resistances which barred his path. He, and the ever-
increasing legions who worked with him, certainly showed
at this time, in their patriotic ardour and love of country,
that there was nothing they would not do or dare, no
sacrifice of life, limb or liberty that they would not make
themselves or inflict upon their opponents. The main epi-
sodes of the story arc well known. The riotous meetings,
the fusillade at Munich, Hitler’s imprisonment, his various
arrests and trials, his conflict with Hindenburg, his electoral
campaign, von Papen’s tergiversation. Hitler’s conquest of
Hindenburg, Hindenburg’s desertion of Briining — all these
were the milestones upon that indomitable march which
carried the Austrian-born corporal to the life-dictatorship
of the entire German nation of nearly seventy million
souls, constituting the most industrious, tractable, fierce and
martial race in the world.

Hitler arrived at supreme power in Germany at the head
of a Nationalist Socialist movement which wiped out all the
states and old kingdoms of Germany and fused them into
one whole. At the same time. Nazidom suppressed and
obliterated by force, wherever necessary, all other parties
in the State. At this very moment he found that the secret
organization of German industry and aviation which the
German General Staff and latterly the Briining Government
had built up, was in fact absolutely ready to be put into
operation. So far, no one had dared to take this step.
Fear that the Allies would intervene, and nip everything in

228

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

the bud, had restrained them. But Hitler had risen by vio-
lence and passion ; he was surrounded by men as ruthless as
he. It is probable that, when he overthrew the existing con-
stitutional Government of Germany, he did not know how
far they had prepared the ground for his action ; certainly
he has never done them the justice to recognize their contri-
bution to his success.

The fact remains that all he and Goering had to do was
to give the signal for the most gigantic process of secret
re-armament that has ever taken place. He had long pro-
claimed that, if he came into power, he would do two things
that no one else could do for Germany but himself. First,
he would restore Germany to the height of her power in
Europe, and secondly, he would cure the cruel unemploy-
ment that afflicted the people. His methods are now
apparent. Germany was to recover her place in Europe
by rearming, and the Germans were to be largely freed from
the curse of unemployment by being set to work on making
the armaments and other military preparations. Thus from
the year 1933 onwards the whole available energies of Ger-
many were directed to preparations for war, not only in the
factories, in the barracks, and on the aviation grounds, but
in the schools, the colleges, and almost in the nursery, by
every resource of State power and modern propaganda;
and the preparation and education of the whole people for
war-readiness was undertaken.

It was not till 1935 that the full terror of this revelation
^^oke upon the careless and imprudent world, and Hitler,
casting aside concealment, sprang forward armed to the
teeth, with his munition factories roaring night and day,
his aeroplane squadrons forming in ceaseless succession,
his submarine crews exercising in the Baltic, and his armed
hosts tramping the barrack squares from one end of the
broad Reich to the other. That is where we are to-day,
and the achievement by which the tables have been com-
pletely turned upon the complacent, feckless, and purblind

HITLER AND HIS CHOICE 229

victors deserves to be reckoned a prodigy in the his-
tory of the world, and a prodigy which is inseparable
from the personal exertions and life-thrust of a single
man.

It is certainly not strange that everyone should want to
know ‘ the truth about Hitler’. What will he do with the
tremendous powers already in his grasp and perfecting
themselves week by week ? If, as I have said, we look only
at the past, which is all we have to judge by, we must
indeed feel anxious. Hitherto, Hitler’s triumphant career
has been borne onwards, not only by a passionate love of
Germany, but by currents of hatred so intense as to sear
the souls of those who swim upon them. Hatred of the
French is the first of these currents, and we have only to
read Hitler’s book. Mein Kampf^ to see that the French are not
the only foreign nation against whom the anger of rearmed
Germany may be turned.

But the internal stresses are even more striking. The
Jews, supposed to have contributed, by a disloyal and
pacifist influence, to the collapse of Germany at the end
of the Great War, were also deemed to be the main prop
of Communism and the authors of defeatist doctrines in
every form. Therefore, the Jews of Germany, a com-
munity numbered by many hundreds of thousands, were
to be stripped of all power, driven from every position in
public and social life, expelled from the professions, silenced
in the Press, and declared a foul and odious race. The
twentieth century has witnessed with surprise, not merely
the promulgation of these ferocious doctrines, but their
enforcement with brutal vigour , by the Government and
by the populace. No past services, no proved patriotism,
even wounds sustained in war, could procure^immunity for
persons whose only crime was that their parents had brought
them into the world. Every kind of persecution, grave
or petty, upon the world-famous scientists, writers, and
composers at the top down to the wretched little Jewish

230 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

children In the national schools, was practised, was glorified,
and is still being practised and glorified.

A similar proscription fell upon Socialists and Communists
of every hue. The Trade Unionists and liberal intelli-
gentsia are equally smitten. The slightest criticism is an
offence. , against the State. The courts of justice, though
allowed to function in ordinary cases, are superseded for
every form of political offence by so-called people’s courts
composed of ardent Nazis. Side by side with the training
grounds of the new armies and the great aerodromes, the
concentration camps pock-mark the German soil. In these
thousands of Germans are coerced and cowed into sub-
mission to the irresistible power of the Totalitarian State.
The hatred of the Jews led by a logical transition to an
attack upon the historical basis of Christianity. Thus the
conflict broadened swiftly, and Catholic priests and Pro-
testant pastors fell under the ban of what is becoming the
new religion of the German peoples, namely, the worship
|bf Germany under the symbols of the old gods of Nordic
{paganism. Here also is where we stand to-day.

What manner of man is this grim figure who has performed
these superb toils and loosed these frightful evils? Does
he still share the passions he has evoked? Does he, in the
full sunlight of worldly triumph, at the head of the great
nation he has raised from the dust, still feel racked by the
hatreds and antagonisms of his desperate struggle ; or will
.they be discarded like the armour and the cruel weapons
/of strife under the mellowing influences of success? Evi-
dently a burning question for men of all nations! Those
who have met Herr Hitler face to face in public business or
on social terms have found a highly competent, cool, well-
informed functionary with an agreeable manner, a disarming
smile, and few have been unaffected by a subtle personal
magnetism. Nor is this impression merely the dazzle of
power. He exerted it on his companions at every stage in
his struggle, even when his fortunes were in the lowest

HITLER AND HIS CHOICE 23I

depths. Thus the world lives on hopes that the worst is
over, and that we may yet live to see Hitler a gentler figure
in a happier age.

Meanwhile, he makes speeches to the nations, which are
sometimes characterized by candour and moderation.
Recently he has offered many words of reassurance, eagerly
/lapped up by those who have been so tragically wrong about
Germany in the past. Only time can show, but, mean-
while, the great wheels revolve; the rifles, the cannon, the
tanks, the shot and shell, the air-bombs, the poison-gas
cylinders, the aeroplanes, the submarines, and now the
beginnings of a fleet flow in ever-broadening streams from
the already largely war-mobilized arsenals and factories of
Germany.

GEORGE NATHANIEL CURZON

. GEORGE NATHANIEL CURZON

Few careers in modern British politics are more worthy of
examination than that of George Nathaniel Curzon, and
few records more suggestive than those he has left behind
him. Here was a being gifted far beyond the average
level : equipped and caparisoned with glittering treasures
of mind and fortune; driven forward by will, courage and
tireless industry; not specially crossed by ill luck; not
denied a considerable span : and yet who failed to achieve
the central purpose of his life. Why did he fail, and how
did he fail? What were the causes personal and external
which robbed this very remarkable man, placed throughout
in such a strong position, of the prize which it was his life’s
ambition to gain ? Surely in this limited sphere no inquiry
could be more rich in instruction.

George Curzon was born with all the advantages of
moderate affluence and noble descent. A stately home,
beautiful surroundings, ancestral trees, every material
ministration nurtured his youth. But at the same time a
strict Miss Paraman and a stern Mr. Campbell, his governess
and private schoolmaster respectively, applied disciplinary
spurs and corrections in a most bracing and even severe
degree. A rigorous and pious upbringing proceeded in an
atmosphere of old-world dignity and on the basis of adequate
funds. Shot like a long-range projectile from this domestic
gun, the youth arrived in the early ’seventies at Eton. No
fewer than ten years were lavished upon his education. He
writes of the six he spent at Eton as the most enjoyable
of his life. Certainly they were years of constant and

almost unbroken triumph. He stood out at once beyond

235

236 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

his contemporaries as one endowed with superabundant
powers. He rose rapidly in the school. He rose eventually
to be virtually head of the school. He captured a record
number of prizes of every kind. Latin, French, Italian,
history and, above all, English prose and English verse
came to him with precocious facility. At Eton he \yas the
best and most industrious scholar of his day. But to all
these achievements he added a strong, rebellious and scorn-
ful temper which made him at once admired and feared by
his teachers. Armed with his terrific powers of work and
easy swiftness of assimilation, he repulsed all favour and
loved to excel in despite. He quitted the classes of the
French, Italian and historical professors in order by private
exertions to win the prizes from their most cherished
pupils.

But with all this, his charm, his good looks, his fun and
his natural ascendancy won him without question the
acceptance of the boys and extorted the respect of the
scored-ofT masters. He was certainly not the model pupil,
but far and away the most proficient. He matured at an
uncanny speed. Before he was seventeen his vocabulary
became abundant, his sentences sonorous, and his taste in
words polished. His entries in the record of events kept
by the ‘ Captain of the Oppidans ’ are a school legend for
amplitude and magniloquence. His ideas and stock of
knowledge kept pace with his fluency of speech and writing.
He animated and inspired the Eton Debating Society, and
led Mr. Gladstone, at the height of his career, a docile
captive, to address it. Everyone remarked his present
eminence and predicted his future fame.

His four years at Oxford were not less conspicuous. He
focused his main attention directly upon politics. His
academic studies took a second place in his interest and
gained him only a Second Class in the examination. But
he swiftly rose to be the leader of youthful Tory opinion.
He sustained the Chatham and Canning Clubs. He be-

GEORGE NATHANIEL GURZON 237

came President of the Union. He wrote voluminously and
spoke continually. He infused energy into everything
he touched. His infant reputation spread beyond the
University and throughout the aristocratic circles which
in those days dominated the political scene. He was at
twenty-one notorious as ‘ The Coming Man ’.

The word ‘ notorious ’ is used advisedly, for with all
this early glitter there mingled an innocent but none the
less serious tarnish. His facility carried him with a bound
into prolixity; his ceremonious diction wore the aspect of
pomposity; his wide knowledge was accused of super-
ficiality; his natural pre-eminence was accompanied by
airs of ‘ superiority. Nevertheless, all these were but the
under-currcnts to a tide that flowed strongly and hope-
fully forward.

It was easy in those days — indeed it is fortunately still
easy — for a young man of such parts and influence to
enter the House of Commons as the freely-chosen repre-
sentative of a large constituency. But here for the first
time he came in contact with a set of tests to which his
gifts were not wholly suited. The House of Commons of
the late ’eighties w^as very different in its social levels from
the assemblies of our day. But it was then, as now, the
most competent and comprehending judge of a man. It
found something lacking in Mr. Curzon. It was certainly
not information nor application, nor power of speech nor
attractiveness of manner and appearance. Everything was
in his equipment. You could unpack his knapsack and
take an inventory item by item. Nothing on the list was
missing, yet somehow or other the total was incomplete.
Making every allowance each way for youth and for excep-
tional gifts, the House considered him from the earliest
day of his membership as a light-weight. He aroused both
admiration and envy, but neither much love nor much
hatred. He could expound a case with precision and
deliver a rejoinder with effect. He wielded the Parlia-

238 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

mentary small-sword with style and finish ; and he worked
and travelled and read and wrote (one book alone on
Persia of thirteen hundred pages), and did all that was
appointed without being able to sway opinion or shift
events. Simpler people with rugged force within them and
convictions quarried by experience made homely, halting
speeches which counted for more than his superfine per-
formances. In the House of Commons he met his match ;
and compared with the great Parliamentary figures of that
time he was never regarded, even on his day, as an equal
combatant or future rival. On paper, and if only it could
have been settled by an examination, he had much in
common with the younger Pitt. In fact, however, he was
brushed aside.

The Conservative P^arty had been in office continuously
for five years before he was accorded an Under-Secretary-
ship. Lord Salisbury’s defeat in 1892 offered Curzon the
spacious opportunities of the Opposition front bench. It
may be safely said that no first-rate Parliamentarian with
all the advantage of being an ex-Minister and in the absence
of any definite disqualification could have failed in three
years to establish a claim to Cabinet rank on the return of
his Party to power. Nevertheless, in 1895 Lord Salisbury
had no doubts about offering, and Mr. Curzon no doubts
about accepting, the important, though none the less sub-
ordinate, office of Under-Secretary of State for Foreign
Affairs. We must conclude that for all his perfectly-turned
speeches, his painstaking thoroughness, his ready command
of phrase and epigram, his social connections and un-
blemished character, he was definitely defeated in the
House of Commons. 'This was an enduring decision.

It is only fair to say that he never of his own will gave
up the struggle. He wished to fight and camp, and fight
again in the House of Common^. He saw with resent-
ment and alarm the approaching shadow of an inherited
peerage. To avoid this melancholy fate he tried to legis-

GEORGE NATHANIEL CURZON 239

late. Joined with two other scions of noble houses, he
pressed a measure upon the House granting Members
liberty to refuse or to defer unwelcome elevation. When
eventually appointed Viceroy of India, he took an Irish
title so as to keep the door of the House of Commons open
to him on his return. Therefore no one has a right to say
with certainty that he would not, like Disraeli, have suc-
ceeded in the end. He at any rate always counted his
eventual exclusion from the House of Commons as one of
the decisive misfortunes of his life.

I first cast an admiring, measuring eye upon him at the
time of his second appointment as Under-Secretary, and
was instantly attracted by the geniality, candour and full-
ness of his conversation. I saluted him at the Devonshire
House reception which celebrated in the summer of 1895
the return of the Conservatives to power. A year later I
was several times his guest as a subaltern officer when he
was Viceroy of India. He had, or at any rate practised,
that admirable habit, in which politicians excel, of treating
quite young men on absolutely equal terms in conversation.
At his table in Calcutta I hugely enjoyed his sprightly
and none too merciful chaff of his close friend, my late
Harrow Headmaster, Bishop Welldon, then Bishop Metro-
politan of India. ‘ I presume ’, he said to me, ‘ it will
not be long before we hear you declaim in the House of
Commons.’ Though greatly hampered by inability to
compose at the rate necessary for public speaking, I was
strongly of the same opinion myself.

The contradictory qualities which dwell in the characters
of so many individuals can rarely have formed more vivid
contrasts than in George Curzon. The world thought him
pompous in manner and in mind. But this widespread
and deep impression, arising from the experience and report
of so many good judges, was immediately destroyed by
the Curzon one met in a small circle of intimate friends
and equals, or those whom he treated as equals. Here

240 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

one saw the charming, gay companion adorning every
subject that he touched with his agile wit, ever ready to
laugh at himself, ever capable of conveying sympathy and
understanding. It seemed incredible that this warm heart
and jolly, boyish nature should be so effectually concealed
from the vast majority of those he met and with whom
he worked. Most difficult in all small matters -of business,
disputing pettifogging details of private life to the point of
quarrel with well-proved friends, he none the less was never
happier or seen to better advantage than when he dispensed
the splendid hospitalities of his various palatial homes.
Helpful with comfort and sympathy on every occasion of
sickness or sorrow in his wide circle, unpopular with most
of those who served him, the master of scathing rebuke for
subordinates, he seemed to sow gratitude and resentment
along his path with evenly lavish hands. Bespangled with
every quality that could dazzle and attract, he never found
himself with a following. Majestic in speech, appearance
and demeanour, he never led. He often domineered ; but
at the centre he never dominated.

Curzon’s Viceroyalty of India was his greatest period.
For nearly seven years he reigned imperially over the
vast Indian scene. He brought to that task intellectual
powers never yet surpassed by his successors. Everything
interested him, and he adorned nearly all he touched. A
sincere love for all the peoples of India, a rei>olute champion-
ship of their essential dignities and rights, a deeply-informed
knowledge of their monuments and art, a prodigious in-
dustry, a biting and tireless pen exercised upon interminable
files, a magnificent ceremonial — these were among the con-
tributions which over this extended period he made to the
British Government of Hindustan. An essentially pacific
frontier policy carrying with it a definitely anti-militarist
outlook, immense schemes of reproductive public works,
a liberal-minded and humanitarian tendency manifest in
every branch of the administration, combined to make

GEORGE NATHANIEL CURZON 24I

the Curzon Viceroyalty a memorable episode in Anglo-
Indian history.

Yet it closed in sorrow and anger. A first-class quarrel
developed between the Viceroy and the Commander-in-
Chief, Lord Kitchener. On the merits there is, I believe,
at this distance of time no question that Curzon was right.
But in craft, in slow intrigue, in strength of personality,
in doubtful-dangerous manoeuvres, the soldier beat the
politician every time. Lord Kitchener established his own
secret contacts with the Home Government and with the
Secretary of State. He had his own agents and channels
of communication. He selected the fighting positions with
Lloyd Georgian skill. In the climax the Government of
Curzon’s own friends and the Secretary of State, Mr.
Brodrick, almost his best friend, pronounced against him,
and pronounced against him in error.

He resigned in just indignation. He returned to Eng-
land with his sword drawn against his former colleagues, and
chiefly against his two most intimate friends, Mr. Balfour
and Mr. Brodrick. But the redoubtable conflict never took
place. Curzon arrived home from India to find the long
Conservative regime in virtual dissolution. Mr. Chamber-
lain’s Tariff Reform campaign absorbed the public mind.
The Conservative Government was swept out of existence
at the General Election of 1906; and all its eminent and
remarkable personalities were relegated to a limbo of
shattered Opposition from which they escaped only after
nine years and through the convulsions of the Great War.
Their private quarrels therefore ceased to be of public signifi-
cance. They slumbered^ but they smouldered. It was
many years before Curzon spoke to Brodrick again. Their
friendship, dating from school days, had ceased for ever.
As for Mr. Balfour, his calm was Olympian, his courtesy
and kindness were unfailing, and his impressions inefface-
able. Here again was a fact of cardinal importance to
Lord Curzon’s public career.

242 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

We now come forward into Armageddon. In this phase
Curzon came into contact with a personality almost exactly
the opposite of his own. You could hardly imagine two
men so diverse as Curzon and Lloyd George. Temperament,
prejudices, environment, upbringing, mental processes were
utterly different and markedly antagonistic. There never
of course was any comparison in weight and force between
the two. The offspring of the Welsh village whose whole
youth had been rebellion against the aristocracy, who had
skipped indignant out of the path of the local Tory magnate
driving his four-in-hand, and revenged himself at night upon
that magnate’s rabbits, had <l priceless gift. It was the
vfery gift which the product of Eton and Balliol had always
lacked — the one blessing denied him by his fairy godmothers,
the one without which all other gifts are so frightfully
cheapened. He had the ‘ seeing eye ’. He had that deep
original instinct which peers through the surfaces of words
and things — the vision which sees dimly but surely the
other side of the brick wall or which follows the hunt two
fields before the throng. Against this, industry, learning,
scholarship, eloquence, social influence, wealth, reputation,
an ordered mind, plenty of pluck, counted for less than
nothing. Put the two men together in any circumstances
of equality and the one would eat the other. Lloyd George
used Curzon for his purposes, rewarded him handsomely
when it suited him to do so, flattered him frequently, but
never admitted him to the inner chambers of his decisions.

jjc - * ♦

George Curzon was a wonderful letter-writer. The toil of
calligraphy was a pleasure to him. He could drive a quill or
a steel nib in fine style faster and longer than anyone I have
known. He must have written letters for many hours a day
and far through the night into the ftew day. Propped up in
the steel corsets which sustained his spine, he would write and
write, charming, weighty, magnificent letters, often about

GEORGE NATHANIEL GURZON 243

not much. It was a relief to him, and perhaps unconsciously
a counter-irritant to his almost constant pain or discomfort.

I remember in 1903 during his Viceroyalty in India going
to see the first Lady Curzon, formerly Miss Leiter — (‘ the
Leiter of Asia as the wags said) — one of the most beautiful,
delightful women of her day, when she was recovering in
England from the first attack of her ultimately fatal illness.
She showed me a letter from her husband in India. It was
a hundred pages long! She showed me the numbers on
the pages. All was written in his graceful, legible, flowing
hand. But a hundred pages !

When I left the Cabinet, because I saw what was coming,
and went out to France at the end of 1915, Curzon and I
had been in close collaboration to prevent the evacuation
of the Dardanelles. He wrote me a letter of certainly twenty
pages, describing in vivid style the whole of the struggle
within the Cabinet on that grievous issue and deploring my
absence — ‘ You who have always led us ’ — from the dis-
cussion. I was in the line when this rather deadly document
reached me. A little later he was much concerned to
retrieve it. But although I have hardly ever lost an im-
portant letter in my life, I have never been able to find
it or find out what happened to it. However, if it turns
up now, it no longer matters.

One of Curzon’s characteristic weaknesses was that he
thought too much about stating his case, and too little about
getting: things done. When he had written his cogent
dispatch, or brought a question before the Cabinet in full
and careful form with all his force and knowledge, he was
inclined to feel that his function was fulfilled. He had done
his best. Events must take their course. He was too much
concerned with what might be said about things, and too
little with the things themselves.

» « » «

I had only one public dispute with him. When Mr.
Baldwin was planning the overthrow of Mr. Lloyd George’s

244 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

Coalition Government in 1922, and the crisis approached
in the autumn, there were several dinner-meetings at my
house at which Lloyd George and I discussed the increasing
difficulties with Austen Chamberlain, Balfour, Curzon and
Birkenhead, trying to find a solution. The issue turned upon
whether it was fair to ask for a Dissolution without either
calling Parliament together, or waiting for the impending
meeting of the National Union of Conservative Associations.
It was of course understood that Mr. Lloyd George would
not continue as Prime Minister after the election, unless pre-
dominant Conservative party-feeling desired it. We Liberal
members of the Coalition stood on good ground because we
had some months before offered in writing to resign and
support a purely Conservative administration. I remember
so well how, in the presence of everyone, Curzon got up from
his chair to leave saying ‘ All right, I’m game ’. This meant
that he would go with us in an appeal to the country.

When the crucial meeting at the Carlton Club took place
some weeks later we were somewhat surprised that Curzon
threw his weight against us, that he retained the Foreign
Office under the new Government, and hit us as hard as he
could. No doubt he hated Lloyd George. But then there
was his cordial promise to us all. This defection brought
a tone of acerbity into our election speeches. Curzon took
the field with the statement that the dispatch to the
Dominions inviting them to stand by us at Chanak against
a Turkish re-irivasion of Europe, had been framed and
published without his being consulted as Foreign Secretary.
I had undergone a few days before a severe operation for
appendicitis, but I could not let this pass. So I wrote at
large to say ‘ in spite of the momentous situation Lord
Curzon had left London on Friday night for one of his
country seats, and did not propose to return till Tuesday.
On Sunday Lord Curzon was definitely requested by Mr.
Lloyd George and Mr. Chamberlain [i.e,, the Prime Minister
and his own party leader] to return to London. He replied^

GEORGE NATHANIEL CURZON 245

that he was remaining in the country because his house
in London was not properly prepared for his reception.
He was finally induced to return on Monday. To this day
I do not know how the problem of his lordship’s accommoda-
tion in the metropolis was ultimately solved.’ He did not
like this : he was not meant to like it. He replied in The
Times that my statement was characterized by copious
inaccuracy and no small malevolence, and gave a lengthy
explanation of how ill he had been. We had not heard of
this illness before. I contended that he had admitted the
points made against him.

It was not for nine months that I saw him again. We
met at a large private dinner in London. He was a leading
minister and we were knocked out, so I did not press myself
upon him. But as the ladies left the dining-room he came
round to me and threw out his hand in a most magnificent,
compulsive gesture which swept everything away. Here
was the real man.

♦ J|J

In the spring of 1923, Mr. Bonar Law’s health broke
down. A cruise in the Mediterranean failed to rally his
strength, and he resolved to resign the Premiership.

Several questions of Constitutional usage and propriety
arose. When a party is in opposition, and its leadership
becomes vacant, it makes its free choice among the various
personalities available. But if the party is in office, the
Sovereign’s choice may anticipate, and in a certain sense
forestall the decision of the party. The prerogative is
absolute. It is not for any party to offer a Prime Minister
to the Sovereign. Once a Minister has the commission to
form a Government, he is free to do so if he can. Never-
theless, it is perhaps more in harmony with the spirit of
the Constitution that the King should allow the dominant
party to choose its own leader, before committing himself to
any particular man. It is inherent in the British political
system that the Crown should not be drawn into a potenti-

246 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

ally controversial decision, except when, owing to a dead-
lock or an emergency, there is no escape. A needless
shock would be sustained by the Crown if, for instance, the
new Prime Minister was not accepted as the leader of the
party possessing the majority in the House of Commons.
Even if out of deference to the Royal decision, but somewhat
^against its natural inclination, a Party accepted as its
leader the nominated Prime Minister, it might well be that
the Prime Minister’s position would be difficult, and the
Government short-lived. It costs nothing for the Crown to
wait a few days, and allow disputed claims to settle them-
selves. The Crown would then act upon an ascertained fact,
rather than upon an estimate however well-informed.

It is customary, of course, for the outgoing Prime Minister,
who is, presumably, the head of the stronger party, and
of the majority in the House of Commons, to advise the
King who should be his successor. Thus, the risks of the
Crown making an unacceptable choice are greatly dimin-
ished, and in any case, whatever happens, the Sovereign is
protected by the fact that he has acted upon responsible
advice. If trouble arises, the outgoing Prime Minister is
there to bear the brunt. In the majority of cases, the
advice is obvious. But there are occasions when the matter
is doubtful. This was one of them. Moreover, Mr. Bonar
I.aw had only a few weeks earlier come to the conclusion
that Curzon would not do. The incident which determined
him must be mentioned.

A promoter wishing to start an enterprise in Turkey
before the conclusion of a formal peace with Mustapha
Kemal, had applied to Mr. Bonar Law. The Prime Minister,
about to depart upon his melancholy, almost despairing,
voyage in search of health, referred the matter to the
Foreign Office in a brief letter. Lord Curzon found in this
an occasion to write back with acerbity. He criticized in
scathing terms the character of the promoter, and in his
most lecturing manner dwelt upon the inconveniences which
arise when persons are led to suppose they can apply to

GEORGE NATHANIEL CURZON 247

No. 10 Downing Street upon questions within the province
of the Foreign Office. Such a practice, he remarked, would
only revive one of the worst traditions of the late regime.
The Prime Minister, who had done nothing to deserve this
rebuke, was too ill to be angry : but undoubtedly he became
acutely conscious of the difficulties which would arise in a
government, and in a party, if they fell into the hands of
one who could write on such a small pretext so hectoring
an effusion.

Mr. Bonar Law’s malady was gaining daily upon him,
and he did not feel himself justified in pronouncing. All he
was sure of was that he would not recommend Curzon.
He therefore wrote to Lord Curzon on May 20 , ‘ I under-
stand that it is not customary for the King to ask the
Prime Minister to recommend his successor in circumstances
like the present, and I presume he will not do so; but if,
as I hope, he accepts my resignation at once, he will have
to take immediate steps about my successor.’ This, of
course, recognized the priority of Curzon’s claim, but was
nonj;tX)mmittal.

Mr. Bonar Law was now too ill even to take leave of the
King personally. Two of his closest friends travelled to
Windsor with his resignation. King George after expressing
his sorrow at the news asked whom he would advise him to
send for. The two gentlemen said that he was already too
ill to take the responsibility of advising; so the King then
asked that the Prime Minister should merely advise him to
which other Minister in the Cabinet he should have recourse
for advice. Mr. Bonar Law when this was brought to him,
was at first inclined to offer as an adviser the name of Mr,
Neville Chamberlain of whose good sense and judgment he
had formed the highest opinion. As Mr. Chamberlain was
only the Postmaster-General and was new to the Cabinet, he
put this aside, and sent* the reply that Lord Salisbury should
assume the duty. Lord Salisbury, apprised of this, repaired
immediately to London. But in the meanwhile the King,
fearing that he might in calm weather be called upon not

248 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

only to choose a Prime Minister for himself, but in fact
decide the leadership of the Conservative party, took other
steps. He sought counsel with other elder statesmen of
independent position, in order that the high function of the
Crown should be discharged in harmony with the public
mood and interest.

»ic :ic ^ ^

On Monday, May 21, 1923, Lord Curzon was at Monta-
cute House in Somersetshire, where he was spending the
Whitsun recess. The morning post brought Mr. Bonar
Law’s letter. The moment then at which his life had
aimed, had come. Curzon surveyed the political scene,
and could discern no serious rival. Of the great figures
of Conservatism there was none likely to dispute his claims.
Lord Balfour was in his seventy-fifth year. Mr. Austen
Chamberlain and Lord Birkenhead had not yet been for-
given for their loyalty to Mr. Lloyd George. Of Curzon’s
colleagues in the Bonar Law administration only one was
a possible competitor, and it is doubtful whether Curzon
ever considered him. Nor was this unreasonable. In
official experience, in mental calibre, in Parliamentary rank
and reputation, he far surpassed the only conceivable rival.

Mr. Baldwin was at that time a new and almost unknown
figure. He had only been six months Chancellor of the
Exchequer, and scarcely three years in the Cabinet. He
had never made a noticeable speech in Parliament or else-
where. Curzon on the other hand was Leader in the House
of Lords. He had filled a prominent position in the public
eye for a quarter of a century, and at the moment he
occupied the Foreign Office with his customary distinction.
All Monday Lord Curzon waited for the summons that was
sure to come. At last it arrived. Towards evening a tele-
gram from Lord Stamfordham was delivered, calling the
Secretary of State to London. The journey to town on
Tuesday was filled with the making of plans. There was
no doubt in Curzon’s mind — nor indeed should there have
been — as to the meaning of the summons.

GEORGE NATHANIEL GURZON 249

He was to become Prime Minister.

But as the inquiries of the King had proceeded, what
may at first have seemed the obvious choice appeared in
a new and doubtful light. Lord Balfour’s great influence
was thrown into the scales against the former Viceroy. He
was summoned specially from Shcringham in Norfolk where
he lay ill of phlebitis. The doctors protested that travelling
would be dangerous. Balfour was undeterred. He felt he
had a duty to perform. Arrived at the Palace, he expressed
with conviction the view that in these days a Prime Minister
must be in the House of Commons. Pie confined himself
strictly to this point. He was careful to use no other
argument. It was enough. When late that night Balfour
returned to his sick-bed at Shcringham after his fatiguing
journey, he was asked by some of his most cherished friends
who were staying with him, ‘ And will dear George be
chosen? ’ ‘ No,’ he replied placidly, ‘ dear George will not.’

While Curzon was journeying to London, debating what
he should do with No. lo Downing Street, the King sent
for Mr. Baldwin. When, that afternoon, Lord Stamford-
ham was announced at Carlton House Terrace, it was
only to tell him that Mr. Baldwin was already at Bucking-
ham Palace, The blow was bitter, and for the moment
overwhelming.

The course of history was thus sharply deflected by the
choice of the Crown. The Conseiwative party would cer-
tainly have accepted Curzon as their leader if he had received
the King’s Commission. The untimely dissolution of 1923
would have been avoided. The Parliament newly-elected
would have lived the greater part of its normal life; the
Socialists would not have come into power in the autumn
upon a minority vote; the General Elections of 1923 and
1924 with their great strain upon the Parliamentary per-
sonnel, and their injury to public economy and administra-
tion, would have been avoided. The principle that a Prime
Minister in the Lords is an anachronism, was, as it were,
recognized by the Crown. Actually, it is a question which

250 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

only Parliament can settle in presence of the personalities
and circumstances of the occasion.

Now that these matters can be viewed in the afterlight,
opinion has declared itself, that the right choice was made.
It is more doubtful whether it was made in the right way.
But had Curzon been able to foresee events, his personal
fortunes might yet have been retrieved. The new Prime
Minister was deeply anxious to retain his services. No
sooner did Mr. Baldwin receive the commission than his
first visit was made to Curzon to ask him to remain at the
Foreign Office. Curzon agreed at once. He had no wish
to give up the Foreign Office. He did not allow his grief to
distort his action. He did not give way to pique. He
played his part loyally in the new team. This right and
public-spirited conduct, though creditable to his character,
was finally fatal to his ambitions. If he had stood aside
from the Government, there can be little doubt that after
the electoral disaster which befell the Conservative Party six
months later, he would have been in a position of greater
strength than ever before. Baldwin was judged to have
blundered. Curzon, uncompromised by the miscalculation,
and representing the Free Trade policy now again perforce
adopted by the Conservatives, might well have been the
indispensable man. When therefore at the end he lost the
game, it was because he played it fairly and like a man.
This was one of those cases in which virtue is not its own
reward.

A final disillusionment for Curzon resulted from the next
turn of Fortune’s wheel; and when the Government of
1924 was formed, he yielded the Foreign Office to another.

These heavy reverses were supported after the initial
shocks with goodwill and dignity. But undoubtedly they
invested the long and strenuous career with ultimate dis-
appointment. The morning had been golden; the noon-
tide was bronze ; and the evening lead. But all were solid,
and each was polished till it shone after its fashion.

PHILIP SNOWDEN

PHILIP SNOWDEN

What sort of picture does the average man and woman make
of the political figures of the present day? How far is it
removed from the truth? How far is it a caricature? Do
the millions form their opinions from the cartoons and
comments of the newspapers? Or have they some deep
instinct which enables them to discern the real character
and worth of their public men?

Undoubtedly when politicians, or statesmen as they like
to be called, have been long on the stage, their fellow-
countrymen have a pretty shrewd idea of their quality and
value. About new people, suddenly lifted by the Press or
the Caucus, or both, to national prominence, the average
man or woman (we always have to say ‘ or woman ^ now
they have the vote) may easily be misled and is rightly
distrustful. That is why our vast electorate, like its smaller
predecessors, likes to be governed by well-known person-
alities or even by well-known names. They like to act
upon an impression of a man gathered, shall we say, across
a quarter of a century. They feel that on such a survey,
taking the rough with the smooth, they can form a clear
like or dislike, a definite agreement or opposition.

It would be wrong to think of Mr. Snowden as the spiteful^
vindictive Death’s-head of his caricatures; as a sworn
tormentor who used the Rack, the Thumbscrew, and the
Little Ease of taxation with gusto upon his victims. He
was really a- tender-hearted man, who would not have
hurt a gnat unless his party and the Treasury told him t^
do so, and then only with compunction. Philip Snowden
was a remarkable figure of our time. He was among the
chief architects of the Labour-Socialist Party. He was the

253

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

254

first and so far the only Socialist Chancellor of the Exchequer.
He played a decisive part in the political convulsion which
hurled the Socialists from power in 1931, and inaugurated
the National Government regime twice acclaimed by
enormous majorities.

For nearly forty years Philip Snowden steadily and
consistently built up the Socialist party. He faced all its
misfortunes, swallowed and reproduced most of its follies;
and he held an indisputable right to share its years of pros-
perity. The first quality that the British nation approved
in Philip Snowden was that they knew where he stood.

He was no more a doctrinaire Socialist than Ramsay
MacDonald, but he revolted from Socialism at a different
angle. MacDonald liked the Tory atmosphere and tradition ;
the glamour of old England appealed to him. Snowden
viewed the Socialist creed with the blistering intellectual
contempt of the old Gladstonian Radical. To him Toryism
was a physical annoyance, and militant Socialism a disease
brought on by bad conditions or contagion, like rickets or
mange. His heart was filled with an equal measure of
disgust and pity when he contemplated the true-blue
Conservative or the green-eyed Socialist.

There are few survivors now. Gladstonian Radicals are
a very arrogant brood. To begin with they are quite sure
they know all about everything. For them the world might
have much to do, but it had nothing to know after the days
of Queen Victoria. Adam Smith and John Stuart Mill wrote
it all out quite plainly. Gobden, Bright, and with some back-
sliding due, as they opine, to his bad early environment,
Mr. Gladstone, expressed it with admirable eloquence. The
^solitary new teacher whom they will admit very suspiciously
to their mental parlours is Mr. Henry Geofge — (not Mr.
Lloyd George by any manner of means!). Hemy George
with his Land Taxation impingpd roughly upon the Vic-
torian Radicals. There was a leak, it seemed, in the diving-
bell in which they dWelt. It was an undoubted leak. It
might be deplored, but had to be faced; otherwise not a

PHILIP SNOWDEN 255

chink, crack or crevice had been opened in their system of
thought by half a century of shock and change.

Snowden’s rigidity of doctrine was otherwise impene-
trable. Free imports, no matter what the foreigner may
do to us ; the Gold Standard, no matter how short we run of
gold; austere repayment of debt, no matter how we have
to borrow the money ; high progressive direct taxation, even
if it brings creative energies to a standstill ; the ‘ Free break-
fast-table ’, even if it is entirely supplied from outside the
British jurisdiction ! Their one weakness, their one indul-
gence, their one relish, — the exceptional taxation of the
value of the land, which, as has been often mentioned,

* God gave to the people ’. For the rest, resistance to all
wars, even the most inevitable, and dour, cold aversion from
all Imperial possessions and assets, even those from which
large numbers of cottage homes gain the employment which
gives them their daily bread. As for those who cannot
understand or will not believe these doctrines, it were better
for them that a millstone were bound about their neck, and
that they were cast out into the Primrose League, or into
the Independent Labour Party.

We must imagine with what joy Mr. Snowden was wel-
comed at the Treasury by the permanent officials. All
British Chancellors of the Exchequer have yielded them-
selves, some spontaneously, some unconsciously, some reluc-
tantly to that compulsive intellectual atmosphere. But
here was the High Priest entering the sanctuary. The'^
Treasury mind and the Snowden mind embraced each other
with the fervour of two long-separated kindred lizards, and
the reign of joy began. Unhappily a lot of things cropped
up which were very tiresome. First of all the Chancellor
of the Exchequer had to go on pretending he was a Socialist,
the wordy champion of the class war and so on. This was
awkward when a ‘ statesmanlike ’ speech had to be made to
the Bankers, or an appeal made to the public to buy Saving
Certificates. Then the finances had been left in such a
shocking state by that profligate Mr. Churchill, that the new

256 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

Chancellor of the Exchequer in his difficulties had to adopt
just the same kind of devices he had blamed so harshly in
his predecessor. Economy, too, was very baffling when the
Tories had kept the military services at the minimum, and
all the Socialists put their trust in the Dole as the last hope
of Party salvation. Upon these incongruities there is no
need to dwell.

I have of course no sympathy with the cause which Snow-
den championed. The destruction of Liberalism by the
Labour movement, and the ranging of the less-contented and
less-prosperous millions of our countrymen under the foreign
and fallacious standards of Socialism, has been a disaster
to the British people, the consequences of which are only
gradually becoming apparent. It has been attended with a
decline in the progress of democracy, with a marked dis-
crediting of universal suffrage, and with the decay of the
Parliamentary institutions by which the liberties of England
were won. A crudeness and dullness has been brought into
the discussion of every question, which can already be
sharply contrasted with the tenseness of Victorian debates,
and the strict control then exerted by the House of Commons
over the Executive.

The promulgation by great organized parties of a pro-
gramme of nationalizing all the means of production, dis-
tribution, and exchange, coupled with the cosmof^olitan,
anti-patriotic mood, has produced in Europe violent reactions
towards the extremes of nationalism and the tyrannies of
dictatorship. If in our island these results have not yet
become apparent, it is only because Socialists, when they
become Ministers, largely abandon in practice the doctrines
and principles by preaching which they have risen to power.
It was undoubtedly a grave mischief and injury not only
to the working people but to the whole nation, to found a
class party affianced to visionary principles which could only
be translated into action by desperate civil commotion and
the ruin of British freedom and greatness.

After thirty years of faithful^ tireless labour in building

PHILIP SNOWDEN

257

Up this new party Philip Snowden found himself compelled
by public duty to turn the whole of his vitriolic eloquenc^
and propagandism against his own creation, and chose to
end his political life as a Viscount in the hereditary Assembly
which he had so long laboured to destroy. The apparent
contradiction of spending a lifetime in creating the Socialist
Party and then striking it with unconcealed relish its fatal
blow does not, when all is considered, expose him to any
charge of instability or inconsistency of purpose. All his
life he sincerely hated Toryism, Jingoism, Vested Interests,
and what are called ‘ The Upper Classes *. On the other
hand, he never had the slightest intention of taking part
in any revolutionary movement, nor would he in any
circumstances have become responsible for a state of laxity
and demoralization, financial or political, which would en-
danger the solid foundations of the established monarchical,
parliamentary and capitalist system. On the contrary,
confronted with the imminence of a breakdown in the exist-
ing order of things and national bankruptcy, he not only
withstood his own friends and colleagues, but fell upon them
with a whole-hearted ferocity which astounded the public
and delighted the greater part of it.

A distinction must be drawn between his conduct and that
of Mr. Ramsay MacDonald. In the hour of national emer-
gency Snowden quitted and at the same time almost des-
troyed the party he had made. But as soon as the crisis
had passed he sought occasion to break with his new allies,
and become again the lively exponent of the ideas he had
championed all his life. He did not dream of continuing
in his office as a quasi-Conservative Minister. Whether if
he had been the head of the Government, he would have
acted differently, cannot be known. The pleasures and
pomps of Ministerial life, such as they are, the amenities of
elegant and opulent society, made no appeal to him. Nothing
that could be offered by the ruling forces in our Common-
wealth swayed his judgment or his action.

The crisis surmounted, he shook off his new friends with

K

258 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

the same thorough-paced vigour as he had his old. The
violence of his denunciations of the Socialists in 1931 was
matched by the terms in which he upbraided the National
Government in 1935. This apparent catholicity of ani-
mosities gave him the appearance of a kind of fierce dog
who would bite anyone and everyone for biting’s sake.
Actually it arose from an extreme integrity of personal con-
viction from which only a supreme emergency justified a
temporary departure. Such a man, had he been a Spaniard,
might have saved Spain the horrors of civil war by uphold-
ing democratic and parliamentary government with an iron
hand. Such a man was the German Socialist Noske who
saved Germany from Communism in 1919. Snowden knew
exactly how far he meant to go, and when pushed beyond that
limit reacted with a violence at once salutary and astonishing.

The story which he has written of his early life makes us
all not only respect his character, but also admire the free,
tolerant Constitution of England under which he rose from
a humble cottage in a Yorkshire village to be Chancellor
of the Exchequer in the richest country in the world and —
if that be promotion — a Viscount among its ancient aristo-
cracy. The tale reveals to us the dignity and spacious-
ness of an English cottage home. He displays the riches of
poverty when sustained by strict principles, by religious
faith, and by a keen interest in social evolution. We hear
discussions between his father and his uncle upon pre-
destination, election, and hell-fire, and the decisive summing-
up of his mother :

‘ You say that God loves us as we love our own children.
Do you think I would put one of my children into hell-fire ?
No ! not how b^d he’d been.’

We see this little row of cottagers, who drew their water
from a well in the adjoining field, rising in physical revolt
against the attempt of the landowner’s agent to make a
charge for its use. Who can wonder at the bent given to a
child’s mind by such a spectacle and such an experience?

PHILIP SNOWDEN

259

Philip was a clever boy and soon top of the village school.
To those to whom his crippled figure was so familiar it is
strange to learn that no one could beat him at running and
jumping. He became a pupil teacher. He passed the pre-
scribed examination for a lower grade of the Civil Service,
and became a ‘ gauger and surveyor of Inland Revenue ’ in
the Treasury, of which he was afterwards twice to be the
Ministerial chief.

But it is the third phase of his life which most powerfully
commands sympathy. Hopelessly crippled by an affection
of the spine which followed a slight accident, he was forced
to leave the Civil Service. His father had died. He re-
turned with his mother to his native village of Ickomshaw,
now noted in the Peerage. For ten years he traversed the
length and breadth of the island, as a Socialist lecturer and
agitator. To say that these were years of struggle against
poverty would be altogether to misconceive their quality.
Philip Snowden vanquished poverty from the outset by the
simple process of reducing his own wants to so rigorous a
compass that upon thirty shillings a week, which was all
that he would take for his lectures, he was able to pursue
a great world issue and lead a life of proud independence.
He was a preaching friar with no Superior to obey but his
intellect. In this latter-day period when riches count so
much and the fear of poverty haunts so many, there are
moral lessons of the highest value for all classes in this
modest account.

I first met him many years ago when I was a young Liberal
Minister and he one of the small band of Independent
Labour men who nevertheless found themselves forced to
conform to the main policy of the Asquith Government.
We travelled for four hours together to Lancashire. Then
for the first time I saw beneath this apparently bitter and
even spiteful spirit and regard something of the appeal and
kindliness of his nature. His face, though in a way twisted
by pain, ill-health and the mood of revolt, was lighted by
a smile truly disarming, comprehending and delightful.

26o great C0])ITEMP0RARIES

Afterwards it fell to my lot for seven years to wrangle with
him about finance as Chancellor of the Exchequer, or in
opposition to his Chancellorship, and we hit each other as
hard as we could within the wide rules of Order. But never
have I had any feeling towards him which destroyed the
impression that he was a generous, true-hearted man.

The Marxian aberration never obsessed his keen intelli-
gence. One who knew him well said to me, ‘ No one will
ever know what a Labour Government will be like till they
see one without Snowden at the Exchequer.’ Arrived at
this post, he confronted his colleagues with a resistance
to wild and sloppy extravagance, however popular, which
staggered them. Although overborne on many points, he
continued to fight for what he regarded as the essential
principles of sound finance, and the friction of this conflict
roused him to the fury and even hatred with which he
eventually assailed his friends and colleagues.

The British democracy should be proud of Philip Snowden.
He was a man capable of maintaining the structure of
Society while at the same time championing the interests of
the masses. His long life of effort, self-denial, and physical
affliction was crowned by honourable success. His fearless-
ness, his rectitude, his austerity, his sobriety of judgment,
his deep love of Britain and his studiously-concealed, but
intense, pride , in British greatness, distinguish him as one
^f the true worthies of our age. His life of privation, of
affliction, of self-discipline, of war-time odium, had a grand
culmination. The history of Parliament will not ignore the
scene when the House of Commons rose to their feet in
enthusiasm as he recited the famous lines :

‘ All our past proclaims the future : Shakespeare’s voice
and Nelson’s hand,

Milton’s faith and Wordsworth’s trust in this our chosen
and chainless land,

Bear us witness . . .

Come the world against her, England yet shall stand ! ’

CLEMENCEAU

CLEMENCEAU

Many futile lamentations have been printed about the
quarrel between Clemenceau and Foch. The reading
world has been invited to deplore the mutual reproaches
of these twin saviours of France in her extremity. Both
disputants were old men, covered with glory and nearing
the grave. They belong to history; and a deathless page
of history belongs to* them. Why should they tear that
page? Even if Clemenceau did treat Foch roughly, and
did brush him from the political arena as soon as the
victory was won, or if Foch had sent earlier a plaster bust
of himself to Clemenceau, hoping to procure patronage,
surely, it is urged, these tales might well have been left
untold. Everything should be presented decorously to
future generations. Litter should not be allowed to gather
around the monument upon which only the good and great
things that men have done should be inscribed.

I cannot agree. The Muse of History must not be fas-
tidious. She must see everything, touch everything,
and, if possible, smell everything. She need not be afraid
that these intimate details will rob her of Romance and
Hero-worship. Recorded trifles and tittle-tattle may — and,
indeed, ought — to wipe out small people. They can have
no permanent effect upon those who have held with honour
the foremost stations in the greatest storms. A generation
or two — a century, certaiilly — will present these two men
in their true proportions. The judgment of our descendants
will be unruffled by their final disputations. We are the
richer rather, that Foch flings the javelin at Clemenceau

263

264 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

from beyond the tomb, and that Clemenceau, at the moment
of descending into it, hurls back the weapon with his last
spasm.

We are certainly the richer by the possession of Clemen-
ceau’s remarkable book Grandeurs el Miseres de la ‘ Victoire.
Quick and shallow writers have been prone to treat this
work as the morose incoherences of an aged mind. They
have hastened to apologize for it. Common sense and
fairness, we are told, forbid us to attach importance to the
fierce mumblings of a moribund octogenarian. I, on the
contrary, regard this book as a magnificent contribution to
the history of the Age and of the Crash. On every page it
contains sentences and phrases which illuminate and make
plain to future times not only the character of Clemenceau,
but the story of the War and its causes. Foch’s rank
among the world’s great generals may be disputed, but it is
already certain that Clemenceau was one of the world’s
great men. And here we have his image hewn by himself
— a rugged masterpiece, unfinished and in parts distorted,
but for all time a revelation.

The truth is that Clemenceau embodied and expressed
France. As much as any single human being, miraculously
magnified, can ever be a nation, he was France. Fancy
paints nations in symbolic animals — the British Lion, the
American Eagle, the Russian double-headed ditto, the
Gallic Cock. But the Old Tiger, with his quaint, stylish
cap, his white moustache and burning eye, would make
a truer mascot for France than any barnyard fowl. He
was an apparition of the French Revolution at its sublime
moment, before it was overtaken by the squalid butcheries
of the Terrorists. He represented the French people risen
against tyrants — tyrants of the mind, tyrants of the soul,
tyrants of the body; foreign tyrants, domestic tyrants,
swindlers, humbugs, grafters, traitors, invaders, defeatists
— all lay within the bound of thb Tiger ; and against them
the Tiger waged inexorable war. Anti-clerical, anti-mon-

CLEMENCEAU 265

archist, and-Communist, and-German — in all this he
represented the dominant spirit of France.

There was another mood and another France. It was
the France of Foch — ancient, aristocratic ; the France whose
grace and culture, whose etiquette and ceremonial has
bestowed its gifts around the world. There was the France
of chivalry, the France of Versailles, and, above all, the
France of Joan of Arc. It was this secondary and sub-
merged national personality that Foch recalled. In the
combination of these two men during the last year of the
War, the French people found in their service all the
glories and the vital essences of Gaul. These two men em-
bodied respectively their ancient and their modern history.
Between the twain there flowed the blood-river of the
Revolution. Between them towered the barriers which
Christianity raises against Agnosticism. But when they
gazed upon the inscription on the golden statue of Joan of
Arc : ‘ La pitie qu^elle avail pour le royaume de France * and
saw gleaming the Maid’s uplifted sword, their two hearts
beat as one. The French have a dual nature in a degree
not possessed by any other great people. There is nothing
like this duality in Great Britain or the United States,
or even in Germany. It is an unending struggle which
goes on continually, not only in every successive Parlia-
ment, but in every street and village of France, and in
the bosom of almost every Frenchman. Only when France
is in mortal peril does the struggle have a truce. The
comradeship of Foch and Clemenceau illustrates as in a

cameo the history of France.

« « ♦ ♦ ♦

Clemenceau’s story is familiar to most of us. A life of
storm, from the beginning to the end ; fighting, fighting all
the way; never a pause, never a truce, never a rest. His
blade was forged and tempered in the fires and chills of half
a century. He was Mayor of Montmartre amid the perils
of the Commune. His assault upon the crumbling Empire

266 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

and his resistance to the excesses of the revolutionaries ; his
vain attempt to save the lives — almost at the cost of his own
— of Generals Clement Thomas and Lecomte, concentrated
upon him the malice both of extremists opposed in their
atrocities, and of reactionaries victorious and seeking the
punishment of those who had stirred the mob, and could
no longer lead it. He struggled long and arduously to earn
his daily bread as a doctor, as a teacher, as a journalist.
All these trials were but the early morning of his long
and long-threatened life. When he entered Parliament
another series of conflicts began. The unswerving Radical-
Republican ; the destroyer of Ministers and Ministries ; the
Parliamentary Tiger whom all politicians feared ; the
iconoclast, the duellist, the merciless assailant of men who
were building the new French Colonial Empire, gathered
against him foes on every side. He followed Gambetta
and repudiated him. He was duped by Boulanger and
became his greatest enemy. The existence of the Republic
hung for years by a thread. In Clemenceau, at least,
the thread had one unsleeping guardian.

But what a tumult of animosities followed in his wake !
Everyone had felt the lash of his tongue and of his pen, and
not a few had faced his sword or pistol. Deep forces, wide-
spread interests, sacred traditions had been affronted — nav,
wounded, injured, hampered. A dozen statesmen of first-
class eminence remembered that he had been the ruin of
their ambitions and of their plans. Sometimes their plans
were good. Jules Ferry, denounced and driven from power
as ‘ the Tonkinner ’, tripled by his labours and his sacrifices
the extent of the French Colonial possessions. His fall was
due to Clemenceau more than to any other man. Another
field opened, an old, historic field for France. The English
invited French co-operation in restoring solvency and order
to Egypt. Fear of Clemenceau was a recognizable factor in
the momentous decision which made the French Fleet steam
supinely from the scene of the impending bombardment of

CLEMENCEAU

267

Alexandria. Clemenccau had not been able to stop France
acquiring Tunis, Tonkin, or Indo-China. But he had
broken the man who did the work; and he had, in fact,
kept her out of Egypt. The new Colonial Empire of France
had its contribution of bayonets to make in the fighting
lines of 1914. No one had checked or prevented the ac-
quisition of that Empire so much as Clemenceau. Surely,
in after years, this reflection must have caused him many a
pang. It certainly brought him many a reproach.

There is in French politics an intensity, an intricacy, and
a violence unequalled in Great Britain. It reached jts
extreme in the ’eighties and ’nineties. AH the elements of
blood-curdling political drama were represented by actual
facts. The life of the French Chamber, hectic, fierce,
poisonous, flowed through a succession of scandals and
swindles, of exposures, of perjuries, forgeries, and murders,
of plottings and intriguings, of personal ambitions and
revenges, of crooking and double-crossing, which find their
modern parallel only in the underworld of Chicago. But
here they were presented upon the lime-lit stage of the
most famous of the nations before an audience of all the
world. The actors were men of the highest ability, men
of learning and eloquence, men of repute and power;
men who proclaimed the noblest sentiments, who lived in
the public eye; men who directed armies, diplomacy and
finance. It was a terrible society, grimly polished, loaded
with explosives, trellised with live electric wires. Through
the centre of it, turning to make a front now here, now
there, and beating down opponents with his mace, Clemen-
ceau long strode, reckless, aggressive and triumphant.

Let me merely mention the four major scandals which
convulsed France in the last quarter of the nineteejith cen-
tury. The Grevy affair, in which the President’s son-in-law
was convicted of the wholesale bartering of honours, costing
President Gr^vy his place and fame: the vain Boulanger
craze, which came within an ace of destroying the Republic

268 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

under pretext of cleansing and rehabilitating it. These
were the first two. Greater and worse were to follow : the
cesspool of Panama must be drained : the torture of Dreyfus
must run its course. Let the reader remember that each
of these astounding episodes, ready-made dramas of actual
life, took place in a country already riven internally by
memories of revolution and civil war, divided into the un-
forgiving factions of Royalists, Bonapartists, Republicans
and Socialists ; in a State where nothing was secure or un-
challenged ; a State newly-defeated in the field, and dwell-
ing always under the shadow of the German power. They
took place among a people whose history for a century had
been one of external wars ending in disasters, and internal
feuds culminating in massacres and proscriptions. Thrice
had foreign armies entered Paris to dictate a peace. Four
or five coups d'etat or revolutions had erected or overthrown
Sovereigns, Constitutions, Governments and Laws. As
recently as 1871 the suppression of the Commune had been
attended by thousands of executions. On every side, in
every party, blood and the stains of blood were visible —
unconcealable by elegant manners, culture, or intellectual
glory. There was nothing like it in modern Europe before
the War. There never has been so polite and civilized a
society, nursing such hideous wounds.

Clemenceau gave no quarter and could expect none.
He had overturned a series of Governments by taking every
advantage, fair or unfair. He had been pitiless in the
Gr^vy scandal. He had the political scalps of a dozen
Ministers nailed upon his door. He had been at all times
ready to go all lengths — including armed action — against
General Boulanger and the patriotic forces which gathered
blindly behind that man of straw. So far, he had been the
ruthless attacker. But with Panama the boot seemed on
the other leg. The pestilence of suspicion tainted him with
its infecting breath. The two greatest scoundrels in the
Panama frauds, the two chief corrupters of public men,
were Cornelius Her? and Bd^von Reinach. Clemenceau was

CLEMENCEAU

269

intimate with both. The former had given financial aid to
his newspaper Justice ; he had, with characteristic courage,
escorted the latter to see the Minister of the Interior on
the very night of Reinach’s death-agony. The conduct of
one hundred * and forty deputies was in question. Many
were known to be involved in the coils of corruption. On
every side reputations were broken or assailed. Each
falling man strove to drag down others. In the delirium
of such days the slightest contact with the guilty wais held
to compromise a public man. Clemenceau’s contacts had
not been slight: nor was the explanation which he vouch-
safed particularly exhaustive. Should he, then — he, who
had been so unsparing of others — escape? Was not this
the moment for his foes to unite and crush him once for
all?

In full Assembly the passionate Deroulede declared that
Herz’s rise to influence and honour in France could only
be due to the aid of some man of exceptional influence and
power. ‘ This serviceable, devoted, indefatigable inter-
mediary — so active, so dangerous — you all know him. His
name is on the lips of all, but there is not one among you
who would name him; for he has three things you fear —
his sword, his pistol and his tongue. I defy all three, and
I will name him. It is M. Clemenceau ! ’

And, again :

‘ Cornelius Herz is an enemy agent. It is right that his
accomplices should suffer. Meanwhile, let us mark out for
public vengeance the most formidable, the guiltiest of those
who served him.’ *

No country is free from such episodes. The savings of
the thrifly have been squandered, public money has been
pilfered or shamefully misapplied. Members of the legisla-
ture, or even ministers, have received bribes or benefits, or
have come under obligations to great interests; and it can
be presumed or alleged that their votes or speeches have
been corrupt. Mixed up with those actually guilty are many
♦ The Tiger, Georges Clemenceau, 1841-1^2^, by George Adam.

270 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

who, though not criminals, are compromised by imprudent
conduct or unsavoury association. Mixed up again with
these are men whose completely innocent transactions or
friendships seem to class them with the guilty. Once the
hue and cry is raised, once motives are impugned, once lists
of names are circulated by rumour, and suspicion spreads
on all sides, thoroughly legitimate actions or connections
may be profoundly dangerous to a public man. But there
is always one sure defence for confident integrity ; a modest,
austere mode of living, domestic accounts which can be laid
before the whole world, a proud readiness to exhibit every
source of income. Such was the defence which Clemenceau
was able to make. ‘ My life is an open book,* he said to
his constituents, ‘ and I defy anyone to find any other
luxury in it than a saddle-horse whose upkeep costs me five
francs a day, and a five-hundred-franc share in a shoot.’

But further charges were in store. Repulsed upon
Panama, Clemenceau’s many foes returned to the attack
with new weapons. Documents purporting to come from
the British Foreign Office were produced with the con-
nivance of the French Ministry to prove that he was in
the pay of England. These documents were obviously
forgeries, and the direct attack in the Chamber broke down
ignominiously ; but the tale was spread far and wide.
‘ Now,’ it was said, ‘ we know why he opposed our Colonial
expansion; now we know why he kept us out of Egypt
and nearly did us out of Tunis.’ Hateful cries ‘ A-oh
yes ! ’ and ‘ Spik Ingleesh ! ’ saluted him at every meeting.
He was defeated in his constituency of the Var, and quitted
its bounds under the taunts and insults of the mob. Rarely
was a public man in time of peace more cruelly hounded
and hunted. Dark days, indeed, and the leering triumphs
of once-trampled foes !

‘ The desolator, desolate ;

The victor overthrown ;

The arbiter of others’ fate,

A suppliant for his own.*

GLEMENCEAU 2jl

No, not suppliant: never that. Defiant, unconquerable,
he faced the infuriated French world alone.

Excluded from the Chamber, his voice could no longer
be heard. Never mind ! He had another weapon. He
had a pen. His biographer says that Clemenceau’s journal-
istic output could not be contained in a hundred sub-
stantial volumes. He wrote for bread and life: for life
and honour! And far and wide what he wrote was read.
Thus he survived. He survived not to recover only, but to
assault: not to assault, but to conquer. The worst of all
the scandals had yet to come. Clemenceau became the
champion of Dreyfus. Here he had to fight, to him the
most sacred thing in France — the French Army. The
Church, Society, High Finance, the Press — these, as before,
were ranged against him. But now, in addition, was that
splendid organization upon whose bayonets the liberties of
Europe were soon to depend. ‘ Destroy confidence in the;,
Army chiefs, and you will have imperilled the safety of the
country!’ exclaimed the generals in chorus. ‘Is it to a
butchery you wish us to lead your sons ? ’ cried General de
Pellieu at one of the Dreyfus trials. But after all, the
question at issue was whether Dreyfus was a traitor or
not. And he was innocent. The whole nation took sides.
Friendships were ruptured and families divided. But the
genius of France was not darkened. Truth and Justice
marched forward : and along the path which he had helped
to clear for them, Clemenceau came back into his own.
He even became for a space Prime Minister!

-If

Such was the man who, armed with the experience and
i loaded with the hatreds of half a century, was called to the
^ helm of France in the worst period of the War. Many of
the French generals were discredited, and all their plans
had failed. Widespread mutinies had been with difficulty
suppressed at the front. Profound and tortuous intrigues
gripped Paris. Britain had bled herself white at Passchen-

272 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

daele, the Russians had collapsed^ the Italians were at the
last gasp, and the Americans were far . away. The giant
enemy towered up, brazen, and so far as we could see, in-
vulnerable. It was at this moment, after every other
conceivable combination had been tried, that the fierce old
man was summoned to what was in fact the Dictatorship
j|)f France. He returned to power as Marius had returned
Ko Rome; doubted by many, dreaded by all, but doom-
fsent, inevitable.

It was at this time that I first began to know him. I
had met him several times before, but only in a casual way.
My work as Minister of Munitions brought me frequently to
Paris, and involved me constantly with French Ministers.
My close association with Mr. Lloyd George afforded addi-
tional intimate contacts. I was with Clemenceau for half
an hour on the morning when he was forming his Ministry.

I listened to his opening speech in the Chamber. My friend,
colleague, and opposite number, Albert Thomas, had only a
day or two before lost office in the ministerial earthquake. \
We had been drawn so closely together in the details of
business, that I ventured an appeal to the Tiger not to
disturb a cross-Channel combination that was working
smoothly. I thought I had made an impression; but
meanwhile Thomas, supported by the Socialists, had de-
clared that Clemenceau as Premier ‘ was a danger to
national defence This of course was mortal.

I also heard Clemenceau’s reply in the Chamber. It is
very difficult fdr a foreigner with only a superficial know-
ledge of the language and only an indirect sensing of the
atmosphere, to judge such oratorical performances. Cer-
tainly Clemenceau reproduced more than any other French
Parliamentarian I have heard, the debating methods of
the House of Commons. The essence and foundation of
House of Commons’ debating is formal conversation. The
set speech, the harangue addressed to constituents, or to
the wider public out of doors, has never succeeded much in

CLEMENGEAU

our small wisely-built chamber. To do .any good you have
got to get dow^ to grips with the subject and in human
touch with the audience. Certainly Clemenceau seemed to
do this; he ranged from one side of the tribune to the
other, without a note or book of reference or scrap of paper,
barking out sharp, staccato sentences as the thought broke
upon his mind. He looked like a >vild animal pacing to and
fro behind bars, growling and glaring ; and all around him
was an assembly which would have done anything to avoid
having him there, but having put him there, felt they must
obey. Indeed it was not a matter of words or reasoning.

; Elemental passions congealed by suffering, dire perils close
and drawing nearer, awful lassitude and deep forebodings,
disciplined the audience. The last desperate stake had to
be played. France had resolved to unbar the cage and Jet^^
her tiger loose upon all foes, beyond the trenches or in her
midst. Language, eloquence, arguments were not needed *
to express the situation. With snarls and growls, the fero-
/cious, aged, dauntless beast of prey went into action.

In this fashion did the death-grapple with Germany begin.
It was to last for a whole year. Cruel aspersions and in-
juries were inflicted on eminent Frenchmen. The execution
of proved traitors was but the symbol of a potential terrorism
which would have sent, if the need or the mood had required
it, men guilty of no more than intellectual vagaries, men
who had held the highest office in the State, to face a firing-
party at Vincennes. Mere opposition or association with
friends previously considered lukewarm or defeatist was
sufficient to expose statesmen of the highest standing at
least to the danger of arrest. Clemenceau inspired on all
sides a terror ; but no one had so much reason to complain
of it as the Germans.

As a foreigner he allowed me sometimes to say things to
him he would have tolerated from few Frenchmen. * Surely
it would be wise to get them all around you now, and to
forget old quarrels. Distinguished people get into positions

1^74 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

which they cannot get out of by themselves. In England
we often help them to get down off awkward perches. We
make many muddles, but we always keep more or less
together.’ His eye twinkled, he wagged his head, his
droll comprehending smile lit up the seared Mongol-like
visage.

One day he said to me, ‘ I have no political system, and I
have abandoned all political principles. I am a man dealing
with events as they come in the light of my experience,’ or
it may be it was ‘ according as I have seen things happen
I was reminded of Monsieur de Camors’ letter to his son :
‘ All principles are equally true or equally false, according
to circumstances.’ Clemenceau was quite right. The only
thing that mattered was to beat the Germans.

Presently came the supreme crisis. The Germans were
again on the Marne. From the heights of Montmartre the
horizon could be seen alive with the flashes of artillery.
The Americans were pitchforked in at Chateau-Thierry. I
had important munition and aeroplane factories all around
Paris : we hacf to prepare to move them and to improvise
shelters farther south : so I was much in the French capital.
Before a war begins one should always say, ‘ I am strong,
but so is the enemy.’ When a war is being fought one
should say, ‘ I am exhausted, but the enemy is quite tired
too.’ It is almost impossible to say either of these two
things at the time they matter. Until the Germans col-
lapsed, they seemed unconquerable ; but so was Clemenceau.
He uttered to me in his room at the Ministry of War words
he afterwards repeated in the tribune : ‘ I will fight in front
of Paris; I will fight in Paris; I will fight behind Paris.’
Everyone knew this was no idle boast. Paris might have
been reduced to the ruins of Ypres or Arras. It would not
have affected Clemenceau’s resolution. He meant to sit on
the safety-valve, till he won or till all his world blew up.
He had no hope beyond the grave; he mocked at death;
he was in his seventy-seventh year. Happy the nation

CLEMENCEAU 275

which when its fate quivers in the balance can find such a
tyrant and such a champion.

*****

When the victory was won, France to foreign eyes seemed
ungrateful. She flung him aside and hastened back as
quickly as possible to the old hugger-mugger of party
politics. In principle one cannot blame the French; but
they might have behaved more politely. The Clemenceau
of the Peace was a great statesman. He was confronted
with enormous difficulties. He made for France the best
bargain that the Allies, who were also the world, would
tolerate. France was disappointed; Foch was disap-
pointed, and also offended by personal frictions. Glemen-
ceau, unrepentant to the end, continued tob^^y^at the Church.
The Presidency passed to'^an amiable nonentity, who soon
tumbled out of a railway-carriage. The Tiger went home,
as everyone thought to die. But he lived for years and
years in the fullest possible physical and mental vigour.
At any moment he was fit to grasp the helm and steer the
ship. Of course he felt it. Proud as Tucifer, he wrapped
himself in his deathless record and formidable prestige.
‘ What are you going to do ? ’ they asked him when he
returned from his tour in India. ‘ I am going to live until
I die,’ he replied obdurately.

Whenever I visited Paris on public business, whatever the
Government in power, I made a point of calling on him.
‘ I invite no one here,’ he said, ‘ but whenever you come,
you will be welcome.’ He even on one occasion went to the
point of saying in ‘ an unforgettable manner ’ to his eldest
daughter, from whom I have it, ‘ Mr. Winston Churchill is
very far from being an enemy of France.’ . I have my last
picture of him a year before he died. The little house
in the Rue Francois: a small library-sitting-room. It is
winter, and the room seems to be unheated. There is a
large fireplace ; but it is piled full of books. Evidently no
fires this year! I wish I had kept on my overcoat.^ The

276 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

old man appears, in his remarkable black skull-cap, gloved
and well wrapped-up. None of the beauty of Napoleon, but
I expect some of his St. Helena majesty; and far back
beyond Napoleon, Roman figures come into view. The
fierceness, the pride, the poverty after great office, the
grandeur when stripped of power, the unbreakable front
offered to this world and to the next — all these belong to
the ancients.

^ Mr. Churchill, I always admired the English love of
horses. I have found out why they love horses. Look at
their cavalry horses ; look still more at their artillery horses.
Never were such horses so beautifully kept. I will tell you
why the English love horsey. They are sailors; they live
on the sea in ships. Only in their holidays do they come
back to land; and there they love animals, especially
horses, because they never see them when they are on the
seas.’ And again :

‘ When I was in India I saw some things your people do
not see. I used to go to the bazaars and to the fountains.
I had a good interpreter, and lots of people came to me
and talked. Your English officers are rough with the
Indians; they do not mingle with them at all; but they
defer to their political opinions. That is the wrong way
round. Frenchmen would be much more intimate, but
we should not allow them to dispute our principles of
government.’

‘ Mr. Lloyd George, he is now an enemy of France. He
told me himself the English will never be friends with
France, except when she is weak or in danger. I am angry
with him, but all the same I am glad he was there while
those things were going on.’

I mentioned the name of a French statesman. * No, I
cannot discuss French politics with a foreigner. You will
excuse me, there are some names Ldo not pronounce. Come
whenever you will ’ — at the doorway ‘ Good-bye.’

CLEMENCEAU

277

I received from his daughter the following note :

‘ There is a legend gathered round the memory of my
father, which was already linked with my grandfather,
Benjamin Clemenceau, that he wished to be buned standing
upnght. If he had desired it, his wish would have been
carried out, with the immense respect for everything which
remains of his — everything that he has touched, particularly
by myself his eldest daughter, who had worked so close
to him, so close, in so many daily contacts, who had known
his intimate thoughts. Anyway he himself arranged even
with meticulous and detailed care all that concerned his
last resting-place. If you go one day to visit this grave,
nameless, and without any inscription, I think that you will
be moved in that simple and lonely place, where one only
hears the wind in the trees and murmuring of a brook in
the ravine. But he had wished to return alone to his
father’s side, to the land whence his ancestors came, les
Clemenceau du Colombier, from the depths of the woodlands
of La Vendee, centuries ago.’

KING GEORGE V

KING GEORGE V

The reign of King George V will be regarded as one of
the most important and memorable in the whole range
of English history and that of the British Empire. In no
similar period have such tremendous changes swept across
the world ; in none have its systems, manners and outlook
been more decisively altered; in none have the know-
ledge, science, wealth and power of mankind undergone
such vast and rapid expansion. Indeed, the speed at which
the evolution of society has taken place baffles all com-
parison. These great shocks and disturbances have been
fatal to most of the empires, monarchies and political
organizations of Europe and Asia. A large part of the
globe which in Victorian times lay in the mild sunshine of
law and tranquillity is now scourged by storms of anarchy.
Mighty nations which gained their liberties in the nine-
teenth century, and hopefully erected parliaments to pre-
serve them, have fallen, or yielded themselves, to the sway
of dictatorships. Over immense regions inhabited by the
most gifted and educated races, as well as in barbarous
countries, all enjoyment of individual freedom, all assertion
of the rights of the individual against the State, has utterly
lapsed. Democracy has incontinently cast aside the treas-
ures gained by centuries of struggle and sacrifice. With
a savage shout, not only the old feudalisms, but all liberal
ideals have been swept away.

Still there is one great system in which law is respected
and freedom reigns, where the ordinary citizen may assert
his rights fearlessly against the executive power and criticize
as he chooses its agents and policies. At the heart of the
British Empire there is one institution, among the most

281

202 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

ancient and venerable, which, so far from falling into
desuetude or decay, has breasted the torrent of events,
and even derived new vigour from the stresses. Unshaken
by the earthquakes, unweakened by the dissolvent tides,
though all be drifting, the Royal and Imperial Monarchy
of Britain stands firm. An achievement so remarkable, a
fact so prodigious, a fact contrary to the whole tendency
of the age, cannot be separated from the personality of the
good, wise and truly noble King whose work is ended.

The late King’s father died at a moment of severe
political excitement and constitutional crisis. The Great
Council which at St. James’s Palace recognized and ac-
claimed George V as King, saw before them a man humble
in the presence of the responsibilities which the hereditary
lawful succession of a thousand years had cast upon him.
There were few who did not feel compassion and sympathy
for the unproved inheritor of such anxious glories. Some
there were — many perhaps — who had misgivings for the
future. Yet at that moment no one could foresee the terrible
and shattering catastrophes towards which Europe and the
whole world were hurrying. The fortunes even of our own
land were loaded with difficulty and quarrel. The parties
raged against each other. All men were agog about the
veto of the Lords, about Home Rule for Ireland, about the
rise of Socialism. Little did they dream that Armageddon
was upon them.

We must descend to particulars. The Lords had rejected
the Budget passed by a great Liberal majority in the House
of Commons. They had challenged, as it seemed, the slowly
built-up prescription of generations about money Bills.
Upon appeal to the voters at a General Election on this
direct issue the same Government had been returned by
an adequate majority. It seemed that the creation of four
or five hundred peers would be necessary to give effect to
the so-called will of the people, if a second election returned
the same political forced to power.

KINO GEORGE V

283

Here was the first problem of the new reign. It is easy,
now that all these matters have settled themselves, have
passed from life into history, to underrate its poignant
character. One day, many years after, I ventured to ask
His Majesty which was the worst time he went through.
Was it this constitutional crisis, or was it the Great War?
‘ For me he said, ‘ the most difficult was the Constitu-
tional crisis. In the War we were all united, we should
sink or swim together. But then, in my first year, half the
nation was one way and half the other.’ One may imagine
that most of the King’s personal friends, the Services, and
the social circles in which he had moved, resented bitterly
the monstrous, yet possibly inevitable, creation of hundreds
of new peers. A precedent there was from the reign of
Anne, but only for the creation of a dozen, and only for
the purpose of carrying through a definite policy. Now
there was to be a manufacture of hereditary nobles upon a
scale certainly fatal to the whole institution of the peerage.
Nevertheless the Constitution must be made to work, and if
no House of Commons could be found to submit any longer
to the unlimited veto of the Lords, this lamentable expedient
must be faced.

Towards the end of 1910 the Prime Minister, Mr. Asquith,
asked the King for a dissolution — the second within the
year — and, in addition, for a guarantee that if the new
House of Commons — the third in succession — were of the
same mind upon the limitation of the veto, he would consent
to swamp the House of Lords and bear down its enormous
Conservative majority by a host of new peerages. There
is no doubt that the King suffered the deepest distress.
He felt most keenly that the Prime Minister did not come
to him alone, but brought with him also the Ministerial
leader of the House of Lords, Lord Crewe. Mr. Asquith
'did this, no doubt, because Lord Crewe was a personal
friend of the King, and he thought the painful discussion
would be easier. Eventually the King gave the guarantee.

284 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

Had he not done so, the Ministry would have resigned, and
there is little doubt that at the ensuing election they would
have been supported by the majority of the voters. His
consent, of course, remained secret between himself and
his chief Ministers.

The General Election followed. The new House of Com-
mons passed the Parliament Act by a majority of 150.
The House of Lords prepared to resist stubbornly, and the
King, at a certain moment, allowed it to be stated in debate
that he would consent to the overwhelming creation. Upon
this intimation the Lords gave way, and the Parliament
Act received the Royal Assent. It was the prelude, and
meant to be the prekide, to the Home Rule Bill for Ireland.

Looking back, we must conclude that this most decided
action of the King’s upon a matter admittedly at the extreme
fringe of the Constitution was wise and right. The Parlia-
ment Act is still the law of the land. Successive large
Conservative majorities have hitherto refused to touch the
new constitutional relation established by it between the
two Houses. Ireland, by paths eventually far more dis-
astrous than those which then seemed open, has gained
the power to manage or mismanage her own affairs, and
lost the power to manage or mismanage those of the
Empire.

I have dealt precisely with this historic transaction because
it must be regarded as one of the most important exercises,
if not the most important, of the personal discretion of the
Sovereign in interpreting the Constitution; because it was
imposed upon him at the very outset of his reign; and
because it proves the sagacity and faithfulness with which
he observed the spirit of the British Constitution at a time
when its letter formed no complete guide. We next entered
upon a period of violent political strife. Ulster threatened
armed resistance to any plan, however safeguarded, of'
associating her with the Parliament in Dublin. The
Covenant was signed by the Ulstermen, arms were procured

KING GEORGE V 285

from abroad, military organizations were set on foot in the
North.

Counter-preparations were made in Nationalist Ireland.
The factions of Orange and Green, exasperated by the an-
tipathies of Protestant and Catholic, faced one another
in menacing attitude; and the sympathy of the powerful
Conservative Party and most of the rank, wealth and
leadership of the British nation was passionately cast into
the Ulster scale. Nay, even their aid was promised. The
misunderstanding about the movements of Royal Regular
Forces led, as has been described, to wholesale resignation
of their commissions by the officers of the regiments imme-
diately affected. Though it was not mutiny in any base
sense, but rather an act of conscientious passive resistance,
this episode has descended to us under the name of ‘ The
Curragh Mutiny ’. One may imagine the grief of the King,
the head of the Army.

Side by side with these grievous events and driftings
towards the rending of our national life marched other
manifestations of unrest. The Women’s Suffrage movement
took a violent turn. Militancy became the order of the
day. The streets and public meetings were the scene of
frantic struggles, with women transported beyond them-
selves. The gaols saw them forcibly fed in hundreds. One
unhappy creature cast herself to death under the hoofs of
the horses on Derby Day. Labour agitation proceeded
ceaselessly, heralding and accompanying the rise of the
Socialist Party, and strikes and industrial disturbances were
rife in all parts of the land. And then on the top of all
sounded the awful warnings and mutterings which announced
the approach tif foreign peril and of a world war.

It was in these years that the institution of the Monarchy
and the growing regard for the person of the King preserved
unity, in measures of defence and foreign policy, in a nation
otherwise torn by the fiercest political strife and even, as it
sometimes seemed, drawing near to the verge of civil war.

286 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

Amid this domestic turbulence and growing foreign danger
the King experienced his keenest anxieties and sorrows.
He had not then the commanding influence which he had
gathered to the Crown and to his person by the end of his
long reign; but he adhered unswervingly to the Constitu-
tion. He strove to mitigate the fury of parties and to
preserve intact the grand common inheritance of the British
people. Quietly and patiently he strengthened himself,
and steadily he mounted in the esteem and confidence of
all classes of his subjects. Steadily also grew to power and
preparedness that splendid Navy, then unquestionably the
strongest in the world, in which his early life had been spent,
whose ships he had commanded, with whose rough and
seamy side he was familiar, and whose officers and men
he knew.

Then suddenly, out of what, to ordinary folk, appeared
to be a summer sky, rushed the thunderbolts of world war.

This is not the place to argue whether a more precise
declaration by Great Britain might have postponed the
German onslaught. It must have been with much com-
punction that King George, by the advice of Sir Edward
Grey, signed his non-committal reply to the impassioned
appeal of President Poincare. Certainly he understood as
well as any of his Ministers the vital need of bringing the
British Empire unitedly into the struggle. Certainly also
that love of peace — though not peace at any price — which
his whole reign evinced, led him to avoid the formidable
danger of moving in such a terrible business in advance
of public opinion. The reserve, and even apparent hesi-
tancy, of Britain were part of the price we had to pay for
being a free Constitutional Democracy. But we gained it
back tenfold by the surge of national and Imperial resolve
and inflexible determination, wearing down the will-power
of every antagonist, lasting unquenched over fifty-two fear-
ful months, with which the nation once convinced entered
the struggle.

KINO GEORGE V

287

We saw the King on the eve of Armageddon using all the
influence he had so far been able to gather to bring about
Ahe settlement of the Irish problem, and to make Britain
united in an hour so big with fate. His Buckingham
Palace conference could have been only the beginning of
negotiations between the parties 6ut of which a settlement,
for which statesmen on both sides were striving, might
have emerged. But the War swept all this for the time
being into limbo.

The King and his devoted Queen threw themselves into
every form of war work and set an example to all. Tirelessly
the King inspected and reviewed the growing armies, alas
for many months without weapons. Day by day he en-
couraged and assisted his Ministers in their various tasks.
As soon as his eldest son reached the minimum age he
allowed him to go to the Front, where that Prince — after-
wards King Edward VIII — was repeatedly under shell and
rifle fire in the trenches as a junior officer of the Guards.
‘ My father has four sons,’ he said, ‘ so why should I be
fettered ? ’ But his second son, now King George VI, was
also in danger. He served afloat and was present at the
Battle of Jutland, the largest of all naval encounters. King
George himself frequently visited the war zone, and the
photographs of him in his steel helmet attest the numerous
occasions when he came under or within the fire of the
enemy. On one of these visits of inspection an unlucky
accident occurred. His horse, startled by the loud cheers
of the troops, reared up and fell backwards, crushing and
iJHfrShgling the King in a most grievous manner. When some
months afterwards I took leave of him, on resigning from
the Cabinet, I was shocked at his shattered condition and
evident physical weakness, which had of course been hidden
from the world.

The agony of the War continued. Governments and
Ministers were worn out by its strains. The King was ever
at hand to aid in forming new combinations designed to

288

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

liberate and express more freely the indomitable war resolve
of his people and Empire. All stood firm, not a link in the
chain broke ; but the holding-ground in whicl;i all the anchors
of British strength were cast was the hereditary Sovereign (
and the function of Monarchy which he so deeply com- ^
prehended. Victory came at last. Victory absolute, final,
unquestionable; a triumph in arms rarely surpassed in
completeness and never in magnitude. All the kings and
emperors against whom he had warred, fled or were de-
posed. Once again Buckingham Palace was beset by an
enormous concourse. It was no longer the loyal, ardent,
but inexperienced enthusiasm of August, 1914. With a
'^haggard joy, with indescribable relief and profound thank-
fulness, his people and Empire acclaimed the Sovereign
whose throne, founded upon law and freedom, had with-
stood so gloriously the most formidable assaults and frightful
hazards.

The shadow of victory is disillusion. The reaction from
extreme effort is prostration. The aftermath even of suc-
cessful war is long and bitter. The years that followed the
Great War, and such peace as the infuriated democracies
would allow their statesmen to make, were years of tur-
bulence and depression. Shrill voices, unheard amidst the
^cannonade and the hum of national exertion, were now the
loudest notes. Subversive processes, arrested by the danger,
resumed their course. Weak peoples, protected by the
shield of Britain from conquest or invasion, used their
nursed-up and hoarded strength against their successful
guardians. But the King preserved his sense of propor-
tion. When Mr. Lloyd George returned from Paris with
the Treaty of Victory, he took the unprecedented course
of himself meeting his deserving subject at Victoria Station
and driving him in his own carriage to Buckingham Palace.
History will not overlook the significance of this act.

The main feature of our domestic politics since the War
has been the devouring of the Liberal Party by the Socialists,
and the presentation as an alternative Government of this

KING GEORGE V

289

powerful but strangely-assorted force, with their dissolvent
theories, with their dream of a civilization fundamentally
different from the only one we have been able to evolve by
centuries of trial and error. George V’s relations with Mr.
Ramsay MacDonald and the Socialists form an important
chapter in his Kingcraft. Here again the Constitution and
workings of Parliamentary Government were alike his guides
and his instruments. He was determined from the outset
to show absolute impartiality in the Constitution to all
parties, irrespective of their creed or doctrine, who could
obtain a majority in the House of Commons. Indeed, if
the balance were to be swayed at all, it must be on the side
of the new-comers, and they must be given help and favour
by the Crown.

The King, uplifted above class-strife and party-faction,
has a point of view unique in our society. To be the
Sovereign of all his people can be his only ambition. He
must foster every tendency that makes for national unity.
All law-abiding subjects must have the chance, by Consti-
tutional process, to exercise the highest duties under the
Crown. Every political leader who commands a majority
in the House of Commons, or even through the division of
other parties can maintain himself in that Assembly, is
entitled to the fullest, most generous measure of the Royal
countenance and aid. Well might the King re-echo the
old saying ‘ Trust the people \ Never did he fear, never
did he need to fear, the British Democracy. He reconciled
the new forces of Labour and Socialism to the Constitution
and the Monarchy. This enormous process of assimilating
and, rallying the spokesmen of left-out millions, will be in-
tently studied by historians of the future. To the astonish-
ment of foreign countries and of our American kinsmen,
the spectacle was seen of the King and Emperor working
in the utmost ease and unaffected cordiality with politicians
whose theories at any rate seemed to menace all existing
institutions, and with leaders fresh from organizing a
General Strike.

290 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

The result has been to make a national unity upon Con-
stitutional fundamentals which is the wonder of the world.
Such an evolution, which might well have occupied a tumul-
tuous century, and perhaps in its process wrecked the con-
tinuity and tradition of our national life, was achieved by
George V in the compass of his reign. In so doing he
revived the idea of Constitutional Monarchy throughout the
world. He drew upon himself and his country the envious
admiration of many lands. He revivified the national
spirit, popularized hereditary Kingship, and placed himself
upon an eminence where, as a true servant of the State,
he commanded not only the allegiance, but the affection,
of all sorts and conditions of men.

Ireland was another sphere in which the hand of the King
can be discerned without prejudice to the direct responsi-
bility of Ministers. At grave personal risk he undertook
to open the first Parliament of Northern Ireland. On
this solemn occasion he asked his Ministers that words
should be put in his mouth which would appeal to all his
Irish subjects, appeal not only to the North but to the
South. The effect of these words was electrical. For good
or for ill — I still believe, at last for good — the Irish settle-
ment proceeded irresistibly towards its conclusion. On the
morning after the Treaty was signed the King summoned
his Ministers concerned to Buckingham Palace, was photo-
graphed in their midst, and in the most marked and public
manner associated himself personally with their action.
All this policy still lies in controversy, and bitter have been
the disappointments of those who signed the Treaty.

The most disputable political action which the King;took
was during the financial -and economic crisis of 1931.
There is no doubt that he used his personal influence, now
become so great, to bring about the formation of a national,
or so-called national, Administration, to save the country
from unnecessary collapse and unwarrantable bankruptcy.
But in no way did his action go beyond the boundaries
of the Royal function. The entire responsibility, moral

KINO OEORGE V

291

and practical, was borne by Mr. Ramsay MacDonald, the
Prime Minister, and by Mr. Baldwin. These Ministers
advised the King, and are accountable for their advice.
Though that advice was in accordance with his own feelings
and wishes, it in no way deranged the constitutional position.
The formation of a National Government and the over-
whelming endorsement which it received from the largest
electorate that has ever voted in our country, inaugurated
a period of economic recovery and political quiet the like
of which no other State can show during these eventful
and difficult years. That it has been obtained at a serious
cost to the vigour and vitality of our political life and
perhaps even to the effectiveness of our government may
be argued. But the impressive advantages were eagerly
grasped by the people, and four years later they recorded
once again their decisive approval of what had been done.
The last phase of the King’s reign thus saw the fruition of
his heart’s desire.

What a contrast were these last four years to the four
stormy years in which it had opened ! He found his
country convulsed with furious party struggles. He left it
tranquil and in the main united. He surmounted the
greatest war ever known. He presided over the fortunes
of the British Empire in years of hideous and mortal peril.
He saw it emerge without the diminution by one single inch
of his vast dominion. He saw the power of the Crown and
of the Sovereign strengthened to an unmeasured extent,
while at the same time the loyalty of the whole Empire and
the rights and freedom of his subjects were established upon
an ever-broader basis. He saw the Crown, which to ignorant
and unthinking minds and also to many intellectuals of an
earlier century had become a mere symbol, now the indis-
pensable modern link upon which alone the entire British
Empire or Commonwealth of Nations holds together. In-
deed, by a movement contrary to the tendencies of our
own past and of the age, the Crown has been placed in
direct relation with all the self-governing Dominions, and

292 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

their Ministers are found willing in high constitutional
matters to deal personally with the Sovereign and* with
the Sovereign alone.

Many were the changes which he saw in our habits, cus-
toms and moods. Women have acquired complete political
enfranchisement and exercise enormous political power.
The motor car has replaced the horse, with all that that
implies. The wealth and well-being of every cl2iss has
advanced, upon a giant scale. Crime, brutal violence,
drunkenness, and the consumption of liquor, have dimin-
ished. We are a gentler and a more decent people. The
thriving free Press has become a faithful guardian of the
Royal Family. The broadcast has enabled the Sovereign
to speak to all his peoples. In a world of ruin and chaos
King George V brought about a resplendent rebirth of the^
great office which fell to his lot.

A singular completeness and symmetry dignifies his
reign. The Silver Jubilee gave expression to the slowly
gathered, pent-up affection of his subjects in all quarters
of the world. Reverence for the Crown was fortified by
honour and love for the Monarch. We saw him receiving
the addresses of his Parliament in Westminster Hall, his
four sons at his side. We heard his voice giving his simple
heartfelt message of good cheer to all the men and women
in all the lands that owned his sway. When the allotted
span of life had run out, and when no climax of his reign
remained, he passed swiftly and silently from our midst.
Upon the verge of eternity, with failing hand, he attempted
to sign the necessary commission for a Council of Regency ;
and he died surrounded by his loved ones, amidst the
respect of mankind and the grief of all his subjects. In
harness to the last, he left behind him an example and
an inspiration to all concerned in the government of men.
Duty, public and private, faithfully, strictly, untiringly,
unostentatiously, and successfully performed, and a calm,
proud humility at the summit of majestic affairs, are
characteristics which will for ever illumine his fame.

LORD FISHER AND HIS BIOGRAPHER

LORD FISHER AND HIS BIOGRAPHER

In these days ten years is a long time to wait for the post-
humous biography of an eminent man. The task of writ-
ing the life of Lord Fisher has been attempted by more
than one accomplished journalist. The two substantial
volumes which now see the light are the Work of his old
friend and trusted agent, Admiral Bacon.* They will be
read with the interest inseparable from Fisher’s strange,
dynamic personality. But it is a pity that Admiral Bacon
should have discharged his mission in a spirit and method
so calculated to revive the animosities and quarrels which
hung around the great old sailor’s neck. Most of his con-
temporaries were prepared to take the rough with the
smooth and to let bygones be bygones. To import a mood
of hatred and spiteful controversy into the discussion of
the memorable transactions with which Lord Fisher was
concerned, was to render no true service to his memory.
His friends can only hope that these rather hurriedly slung-
together records will not be the final appreciation which
his own time will make of ‘ Jacky ’ Fisher.

As I am involved in these matters, I will first say a word
or two about Admiral Bacon. Bacon was an energetic,
ambitious and highly competent Captain closely associated
with Lord Fisher in the great revival of gunnery in the
British Navy which was achieved at the beginning of
the century. When Lord Fisher was First Sea Lord of the
Admiralty, Captain Bacon, as he then was, commanded
a ship in the Mediterranean Fleet. From this station he
wrote to his intimate friend and patron, the First Sea Lord,
a series of vigorous and favourable accounts of the reception
♦ Life of Lord Fisher, by Admiral Sir Reginald Bacon.

295

296 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

of the new Fisher reforms by the Fleet. As Lord Charles
Beresford who was in command was hostile to these changes,
Bacon’s accounts, although perhaps privileged by their
private and personal character, constituted, if they should
become public, a divergence from his immediate Chief, and
a special relationship with the First Sea Lord.

Fisher was so delighted with these letters, and thought
they illustrated so powerfully the policy which he was quite
rightly developing and enforcing, that he had them printed
in his own arresting typography by the Admiralty Printing
Press, and then after some time had passed circulated them
fairly freely throughout professional and political circles.
One copy was conveyed to the Editor of the Globe news-
paper, now defunct, and Bacon immediately found himself
denounced for disloyal and unprofessional conduct towards
his superior officer. The details of this extinct controversy
need not concern us here. Bacon was exonerated by the
Board of Admiralty of having written anything improper.
He was offered further employment, but in view of the
atmosphere created he decided to retire from the Service;
and shortly afterwards Lord Fisher himself resigned his
position as First Sea Lord. Bacon was then in the prime
of life and equipped with immense and precious technical
knowledge. The expansion of the Royal Navy which pre-
ceded the Great War required largely increased facilities
for making big cannons and turrets for battleships. Bacon
became the manager of the Coventry Ironworks, newly
devoted to naval purposes. Here he smouldered energetic-
ally from 1907 till the outbreak of the Great War

He now appears from his writings to be inspired by a
strong sense of personal grievance and of antipathy to me.
But this is quite undeserved, and I will briefly set forth
my relations with him. When the War broke out I had
occasion to see him about the canjions and turrets he was
making. He then declared that all the existing fortresses
in Europe could be smashed up by heavy howitzers capable

LORD FISHER AND HIS BIOGRAPHER 297

of being transported into the field. This was before the
fall of Li^ge and Namur, and seeing his judgment and
impressions vindicated by events, I directed him to make
a dozen 15-inch howitzers, which he undertook to achieve
in six months. These were of course the largest weapons
of their kind till then ever designed. To stimulate his efforts
I promised him that if the contract was completed within
the specified time he should himself command them at the
Front. This road back into the fighting line was of course
the dearest prize that could be set before an officer who had
left 4he Service amid some disputation.

Lord Fisher at my instance was brought back to the
Admiralty in the winter of 1914 as First Sea Lord. In
March, 1915, Captain Bacon had made good his undertaking.
Two of his enormous howitzers were already firing in France
under his personal direction. The command of the Dover
Patrol, one of the most important key posts in our naval
war front, happened to be vacant. I knew that Lord Fisher
would like to have his old subordinate and scapegoat back
in the Navy. I knew also that he would be shy of propos-
ing this himself, and I thought that Bacon with his extra-
ordinary mechanical ingenuity and personal drive would be
the very man for the Dover Cordon. I therefore proposed
his appointment to Lord Fisher. The old man was profuse
in expressions of gratitude, and Captain Bacon became the
Admiral in charge of the Straits of Dover.

In his life of Lord Fisher Bacon complains repeatedly of
a civilian as First Lord of the Admiralty, a mere politician,
having the power to pick and choose naval officers for the
highest commands. He specially animadverts upon my
appointment of Lord Beatty some years before to the
battle-cruiser squadron. How shocking to think that these
sacred matters should be disposed of by a personage of
purely political status! But I must demurely observe that
it was this same civilian influence to which alone he owed,
first his re-entry into the fighting service and secondly

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

298

the greatest opportunity of his life. No Board of Admirals,
judging in a spirit of strict professionalism, would in those
times have considered even for a moment the somewhat
pathetic appeal of a retired officer mouldering on the beach,
whose record was in their eyes smirched by disloyalty to
his Gommander-in-Ghief.

For two years Admiral Bacon did his work, as far as I
can measure it, extremely well, but in 1917* when the full
force of the renewed German submarine campaign fell upon
us, it became apparent that far too many enemy submarines
were making their way through the Straits of Dovqr to
prey upon our transports and convoys in the English
Ghannel. In the dire pressure of events Bacon was deprived
of his command and Sir Roger Keyes appointed in his
stead. Within a few weeks of the change the British grip
upon the Straits of Dover was restored, and within a few
months no less than nine German submarines attempting
to make a passage were destroyed. At this time I had
long ceased to be responsible for the Admiralty. After
serving in France or out of office for nearly two years, I
had become Minister of Munitions. I was therefore in a
position to know the facts, and I had no doubt that what-
ever Bacon’s usefulness might have been in his first year,
he was far too deeply absorbed in technical research and
had lost touch with the dominant military aspect of his
duties. However, knowing his abilities of research and
invention, I was glad to find him further employment in
the technical branches of my wide-ranging department.
In this he discharged his duties to my satisfaction till the
end of the War. Thus three times running I offered him
a prized opportunity of serving his country actively at the
moment of her greatest need.

Now that I have set all these matters down I am con-
scious that they may imply a cptain criticism upon my
own choice of men. I do not think this criticism would be
just, because in every one of his employments Admiral

LORD FISHER AND HIS BIOGRAPHER 299

Bacon rendered most valuable service. The fact that he
was a technician rather than a tactician no doubt made
his removal from the Dover command necessary. That in
no way derogates from his usefulness in other spheres and
functions. But whatever strictures may be made upon
civilian influence in Naval appointments in peace or war,
Admiral Bacon is surely himself the last man to make them.
We may leave him thus, lucky without knowing it, con-
sumed by a grievance which cannot interest the public, and
in his sombre moods finding no hand to bite but the only
one that fed him.

This digression upon Admiral Bacon is necessary to make
the reader understand the kind of atmosphere in which Lord
Fisher moved and the extremely able but at the same time
often somewhat questionable train he gathered around him.
The Bacon facet reflects a flash of the light that flowed from
the old man himself. There was always something foreign
to the Navy about Fisher. He was never judged to be
one of that ‘ band of brothers ’ which the Nelson tradition
had prescribed. Harsh, capricious, vindictive, gnawed by
hatreds arising often from spite, working secretly or vio-
lently as occasion might suggest by methods which the
typical English gentleman and public-school boy are taught
to dislike and avoid, Fisher was always regarded as the
‘ dark angel ’ of the Naval service. The old sailor would
not have recoiled from or even perhaps resented this de-
scription ; on the contrary he gloried in it. ‘ Ruthless,
relentless and remorseless ’ were the epithets he sought
always to associate with himself. ‘ If any subordinate
opposes me,’ he used to say, ‘ I will make his wife a widow,
his children fatherless and his home a dunghill.’ He acted
up to these ferocious declarations. ‘ Favouritism ’, he
wrote brazenly in the logbook of the Vernon^ * is the secret
of efficiency.’ To be a ‘ Fisherite ’ or, as the Navy called
it, to be in ‘ the Fish pond ’ was during his first tenure of
power an indispensable requisite for preferment. On the

300 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

whole his vendettas and manoeuvres were inspired by public
zeal and conduced, as I hold, markedly to the public advan-
tage. But behind him and his professional progeny, the
bloodhounds followed sniffing and padding along, and now
and then giving deep tongue.

My bringing Fisher back to the Admiralty in 1914 was
one of the most hazardous steps I have ever had to take
in my official duty. Certainly, so far as I was personally
concerned, it was the most disastrous. Yet looking back to
those tragic years I cannot feel that if I had to repeat the
' decision with the knowledge I had at that time, I should
act differently. Fisher brought to the Admiralty an im-
mense wave of enthusiasm for the construction of warships.
His genius was mainly that of a constructor, organizer and
energizer. He cared little for the Army and its fortunes.
That was the affair of the Office. He delighted to
trample upon the Treasury whfcrever spending money was
concerned. To build warships of every kind, as many as
possible and as fast as possible, was the message, and in
my judgment the sole message, which he carried to the
Admiralty in the shades of that grim critical winter of
1914, I, concerned with the War in general and with the
need of making British naval supremacy play its full part
in the struggle, was delighted to find in my chief naval
colleague an impetus intense in its force but mainly confined
to the material sphere. I therefore gave him the fre^t
possible hand and aided him to the best of my ability.
When in 1917, two years after he and I had left the Admir-
alty, the main German submarine warfare reopened and
the very foundations of our naval power were called in
question, we had good reason to rejoice that all these ships
and masses of small craft were crowding into the water.
This was Fisher’s achievement and contribution. It was so
great and decisive that so far as Lean measure, it makes
amends for all.

His biographer is at pains to prove him an audacious

LORD FISHER AND HIS BIOGRAPHER 3OI

naval strategist and war leader. We are reminded that he
had a wonderful plan for forcing an entry into the Baltic
with the British fleet, for securing command of that sea,
cutting Germany from the Scandinavian supplies, and
liberating Russian armies for an amphibious descent upon
Berlin. It is quite true that Lord Fisher frequently talked
and wrote about this design, and that we together authorized
the building of a number of steel-protected flat-bottomed
boats for landing troops under fire. I do not, however,
believe that at any moment he had framed a definite or
coherent plan of action. Still less do I believe that he had
the resolution which, after the long and comparatively
easy stages of preparation were completed, would inevitably
have been required. He was very old. In all matters
where naval fighting was concerned he was more than
usually cautious. He could not bear the idea of risking
ships in battle. He settled down upon a doctrine widely
inculcated among our senior naval officers, that the Navy’s
task was to keep open our own communications, blockade
those of the enemy, and to wait for the Armies to do their
proper job. Again and again, orally and in writing, I
confronted him with the issue ‘ Before you can enter the
Baltic you must first block up the Elbe. How are you
going to do this? Are you ready to take the islands and
fight the fleet action necessary to block the Elbe? Can
you divide the fleet and enter the Baltic with a part while
the Germans are free to sally out with their whole strength
from either end of the Kiel Canal ? ’ Deep and sometimes
fiercely intimate as was our association, courageous as he
was in thought, brutally candid as he was in discussion, he
never would face this pretty obvious question. I must
record my conviction that he never seriously intended to
dare the prolonged and awful hazards of the Baltic opera-
tion, but that he talked vaguely and impressively upon
this project, which in any case was remote, with a view to
staving off demands which he knew I should make upon

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

30a

him (which indeed all the allied Governirients including
markedly President Wilson and the United States made
upon their Admiralties), to use the naval forces more
directly in "the main shock of the War.

I have naurated at length in my memoirs the facts which
led to Fisher’s brief regime and his resignation in May, 1915.
Since I wrote The World Crisis several important new facts
have been exposed, I did not know for instance that
Lord Fisher, while working on terms apparently of the
closest comradeship with me, was in secret contact with
the leaders of Parliamentary opposition. I had never
read, until Mr. Asquith sent it to me, the astounding' ulti-
matum which he presented after his exodus from the
Admiralty to His Majesty’s Government. I had always
been content to treat his behaviour at this climax as the
result on the whole of a nervous breakdown. I still believe
that such a mental and moral collapse is the main explana-
tion, and by far his most serviceable excuse.

But Admiral Bacon forces us to remind ourselves of what
he actually did. He was working on terms of honourable
confidence and warmly-professed friendship with a political
chief to whom, as he repeatedly stated, he was under
important personal obligations. He agreed with that chief,
with the full approval of the War Council, to carry out the
operations against the Dardanelles. For three months or
more he signed and sent every order to the Fleet attacking
the Dardanelles. He added important vessels to it upon
his personal initiative. When after the fall of the Outer
Forts success seemed possible and even probable, he offered
to go out and take command himself of the decisive effort
that must be made to force the passage. When things
began to go wrong, he set himself to stint the campai^
and put obstacles in the path of action. He resisted the
dispatch of the most necessary supplies, apparatus and
reinforcements. By this time an army had been landed
and twenty thousand men killed or wounded. The Army

LORD FISHER AND HIS BIOGRAPHER 303

was clinging on to the dearly-won positions by tooth and
nail. He had advocated the sending of this army. But
he dissociated himself from all responsibility for its for-
tunes. His political chief was now exposed to ever-increas-
ing criticism, and the Dardanelles operation was widely
condemned.

At this moment, reckless of consequences to Fleet and
Army, repudiating his own responsibility for the course
on which events had been launched, he resigned his execu-
tive office at a moment’s notice and on a frivolous pretext.
A couple of submarines, we are assured by his biographer,
more than he had bargained for were included in the pro-
posed reinforcement of the fleet at the Dardanelles. He
resigned, he refused to discharge the most necessary duties
— even pending the appointment of a successor. He
retired to his house, he pulled down the blinds, and adver-
tised the fact that he had gone on strike. He communi-
cated secretly with the leaders of the Opposition. Ordered
by the Prime Minister in the King’s name to return to
his duty, he continued obdurate. He formulated no case,
he declined all discussion. Meanwhile we were at war.*
We were in fact at one of its climacterics. In France our
armies were repulsed. At the XJardanelles they were in
jeopardy. German submarines menaced the fleet in the
Mediterranean; and the whole German High Sea Fleet
steamed out of its harbours into the North Sea. Every
preparation was made by me without any First Sea Lord
for what might have been a supreme naval battle. Both
fleets were moving towards each other ; but the responsible
naval officer still withheld his aid. And a few days later,
when a great political crisis had developed, he wrote an
ultimatum to the Prime Minister prescribing in insulting
detail the terms upon which he should be made Naval
Dictator, adding that these terms must of course be pub-
lished to the Fleet.

These are unhappily incontestable facts. Admiral Bacon

304 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

drags them all nakedly into the light of day, and endeavours
not indeed to justify, for that he admits to be impossible,
but to excuse them at my expense. Their mere recital in
his pages is blasting to Fisher’s name and reputation.

I for my part, as I have said^' have always adopted the
hypothesis of a nervous breakdown. The strain of the War
at this moment was more than his aged nerves could bear.
Hysteria rather than conspiracy is the true explanation of
his action. Although he did his best to ruin an operation
which might well have halved the duration of the War, and
although incidentally he destroyed my power to intervene
decisively in its course, I have always tried to take a charit-
able view and to make the best case which was possible.
I knew his weakness as well as his strength. I understood
his extravagances as much as I admired his genius. In
sheer intellect he stood head and shoulders above his naval
fellows. I am sure he was not so black as his clumsy
biographer has painted him. There is always, as was well
said, more error than design in human affairs. I felt for
him in the bitter years of exclusion that followed his deser-
tion of his post. I even advocated his re-employment. I
. am sorry that Admiral Bacon should force me to anticipate,
V however casually, the grievous inquest of history.

CHARLES STEWART PARNELL

CHARLES STEWART PARNELL

It is difficult, if not in some ways impossible, for the present
generation to realize the impressive and formidable part
played by }Ar, Parnell in the later decades of the reign
of Queen Victoria. Modern youth now sees Home-Rule
Ireland a sullen, impoverished group of agricultural counties
leading a life of their own, detached from the march of
Britain and the British Empire, incapable of separate
appearance in any but the small and discordant roles upon
the world stage. But in the days of which we write,
Ireland and the Irish affairs dominated the centre of
British affairs, while Britain herself was universally envied
and accepted as the leader in an advancing and hopeful
civilization. For two generations after Catholic Emanci-
pation had cast its healing influence upon the politics of
the United Kingdom, the Irish parliamentary party lay
quiescent in the lap of Westminster, and sought but rarely
to influence events. Those were the days when Mr. Isaac
Butt with his mild academic dreams of constitutional Home
Rule by good will all round led the Irish members with a
much admired, but little repaid, decorum. ‘ Gentlemen
first, Irishmen second ’ was said to have been in those days
a motto for Irish representatives.

In the ’seventies, however, a new figure appeared upon
the Irish benches whose character, manner and method
seemed to contradict all the ordinary traits of Irishmen.
Here was a man, stern, grave, reserved, no orator, no
idealogue, no spinner of words and phrases; but a being
who seemed to exercise unconsciously an indefinable sense
‘ of power in repose — of command awaiting the hour. When
the House of Cotnmons became aware of Parnell’s growing

307

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

308

influence with the Irish Party, nearly all of whom were
Catholics, it was noted with surprise that the new or future
leader of Ireland was a Protestant and a delegate to the
Irish Church Synod. It was also said, ‘ He is the most
English Irishman ever yet seen.’ Indeed, during the ’seven-
ties it was upon English politics that Parnell chiefly laid
his hand at Westminster. He became the ally and to some
extent the spear-point of English Radicalism, then rising^
sharp and keen into prominence. To him perhaps more
than anyone else the British Army owes the abolition of
the cruel and senseless flogging then considered inseparable
from effective military discipline. In every movement of
reform, now achieved and long surpassed, Parnell brought
the Irish parliamentary party to the aid of the most ad-
vanced challenging forces in British public life. Yet he
was himself a man of Conservative instinct^, especially
ifvhere property was concerned. Indeed, the paradoxes of
tiiis earnest and sincere life were astonishing: a Protestant
leading Catholics ; a landlord inspiring a ‘ No Rent ’ cam-
paign ; a man of law and order exciting revolt ; a humani-
tarian and anti-terrorist controlling and yet arousing the
hopes of Invincibles and Terrorists.

In Ireland National leaders have often presented themselves
as men of fate, and instruments of destiny. The distressful
country fastened its soul almost superstitiously upK)n the
career of every chieftain 21s he advanced. Men like O’Connell
and Parnell appeared, not in the manner of English political
J leaders, but rather like the prophets who guided Israel.

An air of mystery and legend had hung about Parnell
from his Cambridge days. He was the reverse of a dema-
gogue and agitator. He studied mathematics and metal-
lurgy. He was the heir to a landed estate. He was a
Sheriff and a keen cricketer. His permanent ambition was
to. find the gold veins in the \Vicklow mountains, and
through all his political triumphs and agonies he could turn
for peace and diversion to the laboratory with its scales^

CHARLES STEWART PARNELL 309

retorts and test-tubes. His^ Irish nationalism, which per-
sisted and grew upon this unusual background, has been
traced to his mother and her admiration for the idealistic
Fenians. Asszissination he abhorred. He was too practical
to harbour Fenian dreams of insurrection against the might
of Britain. As his authority grew, Fenians and Invincibles
stayed the bloody hand for fear of a Parnell resignation.

What an authority it was! Nothing like it has ever
been seen in Ireland in recorded times. Many years ago
when I was a boy, convalescing at Brighton after a serious
accident, I there saw day by day Mrs. O’Connor, wife of
the famous ‘ Tay Pay ’, afterwards father of the House of
Commons. From her I heard many tales and received many
vivid pictures of Parnell and his rise and fall. The Irish
members who followed him unquestioningly hardly dared
to address him. A cold nod in the lobby or a few curt
directions given in an undertone along the Benches — stern,
clear guidance in the secret conclaves — these were the only
contacts of the Irish political party with their leader.
‘ Can’t you go and see him, and find out what he thinks
about it ? ’ was the inquiry of an English politician in the
’eighties to an Irish member. * Would I dare to inthrude
upon Misther Parnell ? * was the answer. As will be seen,
there were reasons on both sides for this caution.

When Mr. Gladstone’s Government of 1880 took their
seats triumphantly upon the Treasury Bench and looked
around them, they saw upon the western horizon the dark
thunderclouds of Irish storm ; an agrarian campaign backed
by outrage; a national movement enforced by dynamite;
an Irish parliamentary party using the weapon of Obstruc-
tion. All these processes developed simultaneously; at
their head Parnell 1 In those days the Irish question, which
now seems incredibly small, soon absorbed nine-tenths of
the political field and was destined for forty years to remain
the principal theme of British and Imperial politics. It
divided Great Britain; it excited the United States; the

310 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

nations of Europe followed the 'controversy with rapt atten-
tion. Foreign politics, social politics, defence, and Parlia-
mentary procedure — all were continuously involved. Above
all, it became the main process by which parties gatined or
lost the majorities indispensable to their power.

Without Parnell Mr. Gladstone would never have at-
tempted Home Rule. The conviction was borne in upon
the Grand Old Man in his hey-day that here was a leader
who could govern Ireland, and that no one else could do
it. Here was a man who could inaugurate the new system
in a manner which would not be insupportable to the old.
Parnell with his dogged tenacity and fascination over his
followei's became the keystone of the Home Rule arch whichi
Gladstone tried to erect and beneath whose ruins he and hisl
adherents fell. Parnell was the last great leader who could
hold all the Irish. As a Protestant he was probably the
only one who might eventually have conciliated Ulster.
Lord Cowper once said that he had neither the virtues nor
the vices of an Irishman. He was a great moderate who
held back the powers of revolution as an unflung weapon '
in his hand. If he accepted Boycotting, it was only as a
half-way house between incendiarism and constitutionalism.
One of his followers, Frank O’Donnell, used to say Parnell
|talked daggers, but used none. In the first phase in i88i
Mn Gladstone arrested Parnell and threw him into Kilmain-
ham gaol. But the forces at work within the Liberal Party
were such as to compel the Prime Minister of Great Britain
»to parley with his political prisoner. After much difficulty
an agreement was reached. Parnell was liberated with
redoubled prestige.

But the fight grew more bitter. It wrecked the old
liberties of the House of Commons. Obstruction was prac-
tised as a Parliamentary art, and the ancient freedom of
debate was destroyed by the closure — ‘ C16ture Lord
Randolph Churchill always used to call it, to brand it with
its foreign origin — and ever-tightening rules of order.

CHARLES STEWART PARNELL 31I

Parnell said that he based his tactics on those of General
Grant, namely, slogging away by frontal attack. He met
English hatred with obstruction, and coercion with a bitter-
ness which destroyed the old amenities of Parliamentary
debate. In Ireland, neither the Church nor the Revolu-
tionaries liked him, but both had to submit to his policy.
He was Garibaldi who compelled at once the allegiance
of the Pope and of the Carbonari in the national cause.
When taunted with stimulating outrage and even murder,
he thought it sufficient to reply, ‘ I am answerable to Irish
opinion, and Irish opinion alone.’

This is not the place to recount the history of those times.
The barest summary will suffice. The Liberal Government
incorporated all that remained of the once great Whig
Party now borne forward to its extinction upon the crest
of energetic democracy. The Whigs were as violently
offended by agrarian warfare and the violation of Parlia-
mentary tradition as their Tory opponents Mr. Gladstone,
the champion of freedom and national movements in every
foreign country, the friend of Cavour and Mazzini, the
advocate of Greek and Bulgarian independence, now found
himself forced by duress to employ against Ireland many of
the processes of repression he had denounced so mercilessly
(and we will add so cheaply) in King Bomba and the Sultan
of Turkey. His own Chief Secretary for Ireland was mur-
dered in the Phoenix Park. Explosions shook the House
of Commons. The Habeas Corpus was suspended over the
greater part of Ireland. Defence of evictions, riots and
occasional fusillades darkened the columns of Liberal news-
papers hitherto so forward in blaming foreign tyrants. All
this was horribly against the grain with Mr. Gladstone and
detestable to the new electorate he had called into being.
Always at the back of his mind he nursed the hope of some
great conciliation, some act of faith and forgiveness which
should place the relations of the sister islands upon an easy,
sure and happy foundation. While he denounced Parnell

312 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

and the Irish Nationalists as ‘ marching through rapine
to the disintegration of the Empire \ in his heart there rose
the solemn thought which he afterwards in 1886 embodied
in his most memorable peroration. ‘ Ireland stands at
the bar and waits. She asks for a blessed act of oblivion,
and in that act of oblivion our interests are even greater
than hers.*

In this sort of mood the Liberal Government battered
its way through the election of 1885 and still emerged
the victor, though now dependent upon the Irish vote.
Chamberlain, Morley, Dilke and other Radicals, the men
of the new time, all looked towards a settlement. The
Grand Old Man, shocked by many of their doctrines, shared
their hopes, and brought to them the far stronger surge
of his own inspiration. It must also be added that his
power to head a government after the 1885 election depended
upon an arrangement with Parnell. But the Tories, or some
/of them, were also bidding in the market. Lord Carnarvon,
Irish viceroy in Lord Salisbury’s Government, met Parnell
in an empty house in London. Lord Randolph Churchill,
leader of the Tory Democracy which had swept the great
cities in 1885 and confronted Whigs and Radicals with the
then undreamed-of spectacle of enormous crowds of enthu-
siastic Tory working-men, was in close and deep relation
with the Irish leaders. Joseph Chamberlain, aggressive
exponent of the new Radicalism, was full of plans for a deal
with the Irish. Among these, Parnell probably preferred
the Tory suitors. His own Conservative instincts, his sense
of Realism, the anger excited against Liberal coercion, led
him a long way towards the Tories. After all, they could
deliver the goods. Perhaps they alone could do so, for the
House of Lords in those days was a barrier which none but
Tories could pass. During Lord Salisbury’s brief minority
Government of the summer of 188^ when the Irish party
in the main supported the Conservatives, both Mr. Cham-
berlain and Mr. Gladstone addressed themselves, through an
intimate channel, to Parnell.

CHARLES STEWART PARNELL 3I3

The love of Charles Stewart Parnell and Kitty O’Shea ^
holds its place among the romances of political history.
Since 1880 Parnell had loved Kitty, or as he called her,

‘ Queenie This lady was an attractive adventuress, bored
with her husband — no wonder! — and aching for a sip in|
the secret brew of politics. The sister of an English Field-^
Marshal, she was not very deeply vowed to the cause of
Ireland. She heard of Parnell as a rising portent when he
was living in solitary lodgings in London. She invited him^
to dinner for a wager. She sent her card in to him at the
House of Commons. When he appeared she dropped a red
rose. He picked it up; its shrivelled petals were buried
with him in his coffin.

If ever there was a monogamist it was Parnell. Early
^^n life he had been jilted. He had only taken to politics as
vJan anodyne. Kitty became all-important and absorbing to
him. She was at once mistress and nurse, queen and com-
panion, and the lonely man fighting the might of Britain,
afflicted by ill-health, drew his life from her smile and
presence. By a strange telepathy he could tell whenever
she entered the Ladies’ Gallery in the House. In her
strange book she describes the life they lived together, first
at Eltham and then at Brighton. It was a mixture of
secrecy and recklessness. From a very early stage the
complaisance of the husband was indispensable. Collision
with Captain O’Shea passed swiftly into collusion. O’Shea
accepted the position. He even profited by it, though not
in the base way sometimes represented. He too was under
the spell of the great man. By Parnell’s support O’Shea
was returned as an Irish Nationalist for Galway, although
all the other leading Home Rulers thought him but a poor
champion of the Irish cause. When murmurs broke out
in the election at the advancement of this lukewarm, un-
suitable candidate, Parnell silenced them with an imperious
gesture. ‘ I have a Parliament for Ireland in my hand.
Forbear to dispute my will.’

Thus we see Parnell and Kitty living as man and wife

ORBAT CONTEMPORARIES

314

year after year in love none the less true because illicit;
while the Captain following the Irish leader enjoyed the
opportunities of being a go-between with Chamberlain, with
Dilke, and with other prominent men in the great world
of London* But always in his heart lurked the spirit of \
revenge. Often he writhed and cursed, and then subsided.
As long as the supreme political interest held, he endured.
We have the incident in O’Shea’s triangular household of
Parnell finding him in Kitty’s bedroom, a conjuncture for-
bidden by their unwritten law. Instead of kicldng out
O’Shea, Parnell slung Kitty on to his shoulder and carried
yher off to another room. It was said of Parnell that he
^ was himself a volcano under an ice-cap. He certainly
lived upon the brink of a geyser which might at any moment
ifcrupt in scalding water. The public knew nothing of all
this secret drama, but as early as the Kilmainham Treaty
it became a matter of knowledge to the Cabinet. Parnell
hastened from the gaol to visit her, and received their dead
child in his arms. Sir William Harcourt as Home Secretary
informed the Cabinet that the Kilmainham Treaty had been
engineered by the husband of Parnell’s mistress. Kitty
played a vital part in Parnell’s action. She prevented him
from abandoning politics after the Phoenix Park murders.
She was always the intermediary between him and Mr.
Gladstone. O’Shea has been as bitterly blamed by his
countrymen as anyone in Irish history. There is no doubt
that he was thrilled to see his wife adjusting enormous
State issues between Parnell and the Prime Minister. . His
own relations with Chamberlain, of whom he was a frequent
attendant, made a compulsive appeal to his sense of self-
importance and even to his pride. The story was neither so
simple nor so contemptible as it has been painted.

Parnell was so early interwoven with the O’Sheas that
there was no time in the ’eighties in which he could have
disentangled himself. Before Gladstone cast him into Kil-
mainham gaol he was deep in their toils and enchantments.

CHARLES STEWART PARNELL 315

Mrs. O’Shea’s book pretends that she continued to deceive
O’Shea, but there is no doubt that from i88i onwards he
was fully apprised. The opening of letters by close friends
in the party had made them aware of the intrigue, and both
Healy and Biggar repeatedly warned Parnell that the
O’Sheas would be his ruin. Parnell cared nothing for this.
His was a love stronger than death, defiant of every social
ordinance, scornfully superior not only to worldly ambitions,
but even to the Cause entrusted to his hands.

Meanwhile national history unfolded. Mr. Gladstone
embraced Home Rule. He broke with the Whigs. By
what he always regarded as a strange, inexplicable eddy he
found himself confronted by ‘ Radical Joe ’. Lord Randolph
Churchill led the Tories of Birmingham to the support of
the candidates they had fought a few months before. Lord
Salisbury was returned to power. Chamberlain became a
pillar of the Unionist administration. Gladstone had re-
united himself with all the sentimental forces which made
nineteenth-century Liberalism so great but so transient a
factor in European history. For reasons which have no
part in this tale Lord Randolph Churchill resigned from
Lord Salisbury’s Government. Tory Democracy was dumb-
founded and discouraged. The Unionist Government plodded
on dully and clumsily without much illumination, but with
solid purpose. Gradually Mr. Gladstone’s strength revived.
The process was stimulated by a surprising occurrence.

In 1887 The Times newspaper began to publish a series
of articles under the heading of ‘ Parnellism and Crime ’.
Then, in order to substantiate the charges made by its
correspondent, it reproduced, in what Morley calls ‘ all the
fascination of facsimile ’, a letter in Parnell’s handwriting
which directly connected the Irish leader with the murder
campaign. The story of this letter is without compare
in the annals of the Press. In 1885 there lived in dis-
honourable poverty in Dublin a broken-down journalist
named Richard Pigott. For years he had preyed upon a

3i6 great contemporaries

credulous public. He had raised subscriptions for the
defence of the accused in Fenian trials and the relief of
their wives and children, and then embezzled the moneys
received. That source of income failing, he had turned to
the writing of begging letters. But the wells of Christian
charity yielded little to his pump. According to rumour,
he was about this time supplementing their scanty flow by
the sale of indecent books and photographs. And even
that could not procure sufficient for his moderate needs.
In this crisis of his fate there came to him a gentleman
convinced that Parnell and his colleagues were parties to
the crimes of the extremists. But he wanted proof, and
he offered Pigott a guinea a day, hotel and travelling ex-
penses, and a round price for documents, if he could supply
the necessary evidence. Of course Pigott could supply it.
And so the famous Parnell letter, and a host of other in-
criminating documents, came into being, and ultimately
found their way to the offices of The Times,

The manager of The Times^ unfortunately, did not in-
vestigate the origin of these letters. He paid, in all, over
;(^2,500 for them. But he asked no questions. He believed
that the letters were genuine because he wanted them to
be genuine. And the Government took the same view for
precisely the same reason. They believed that here they
had a weapon of the first importance, not only against
Parnell but against Gladstone. Against Lord Randolph
Churchill’s earnest advice, embodied in a secret memoran-
dum, they set up a Special Commission of three Judges to
investigate the connection of Parnell and his colleagues, and
the movement of which they were the leaders, with agrarian
political crime assassination.

It was, in effect, a State trial — but a State trial without a
jury. For over a year the Judges toiled and laboured.
Many of the secrets of terrorism and of counter-espionage
were laid bare. Strange figures like Le Caron, in the deep-
hidden employ of the British Government, told their talc

CHARLES STEWART PARNELL 317

of conspiracies in England, Ireland and America. The
whole political world followed the case with fascination.
Nothing like it had been seen since the impeachment of
Sacheverell. The brilliant Irish advocate who was after-
wards Lord Russell of Killowen, Lord Chief Justice of
England, was principal counsel for his compatriots. He
was aided by a young Radical lawyer, by name Herbert
Henry Asquith. The climax was not reached until Feb-
ruary, 1889, when Pigott was put in the box and broke down
in fatal cross-examination. His exposure by Russell was
complete and remorseless. He was asked to write down
the words ‘ likelihood ’ and ‘ hesitancy ’ which he had mis-
spelt in the forged letter. He repeated his misspellings.
He wrote ‘ hesitency * as it appeared in the accusing docu-
ment. Letters which he had written, begging for money,
were read out, and greeted with mocking laughter from all
parts of the Court. There was another day of damning
exposure. The fact of forgery was established. Then, on
the third day, when Pigott’s name was called, he did not
answer. He had fled from justice. Detectives tracked him
to an hotel in Madrid, and he blew out his brains to escape
the punishment of his crime.

The effect of these proceedings upon the British electorate
was profound. A general election could not long be delayed,
and the prospect of a sweeping Liberal victory seemed
certain. Parnell was widely regarded throughout Britain as
a deeply wronged man who had at length been vindicated.
He had been cleared of a horrible charge brought against
him by political malice. The prospects of a Home Rule
victory were never so bright. Making allowance for the
differences between countries, the charge against Parnell
was invested with all the significance attached in France
to the Drdyfus case. All the political forces were stirred
by vehement passion. Then came the counterstroke.
^Someone detonated O’Shea. The husband who for ten
years had been inert suddenly roused himself to strike a

3X8 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

deadly blow. He opened proceedings for divorce against
his wife, naming Parnell as co-respondent. Some day an
historical examination will reveal what is at present dis-
puted, namely, whether Chamberlain stirred O’Shea to this
action. It must be remembered that many people sincerely
believed that the life of the British Empire depended upon ;
the defeat of Home Rule.

Both Parnell and Mrs. O’Shea were at first unperturbed
by the proceedings. Parnell was sure he could hold Ireland,
and even Irish Conservatism. To Kitty divorce promised
the end of a false and odious situation and of a long appre-
hension, and she saw a sure and quick way to becoming
Mrs. Parnell. If Parnell had defended the suit, he could,
in the opinion of his renowned solicitor Sir George Lewis,
have certainly won by proving the long collusion. But
Kitty and he could never then be united before the whole
world in wedlock. It must be admitted that Parnell in-
clined to this course. But Mrs. O’Shea’s counsel, Frank
Lockwood, a man of exceptional brilliancy, persuaded him
to let the case go forward without resistance. In after years
Lockwood said, ‘ Parnell was cruelly wronged all round.
There is a great reaction in his favour. I am not altogether
without remorse myself.’

The furious political world of the early ’nineties learned
with delight or consternation that Parnell was adjudged a
guilty co-respondent. The details of the case, published
, verbatim in every newspaper, fed the prudish curiosity of
i the public. According to one story Parnell had made his
exit on one occasion from Mrs. O’Shea’s room down the fire-
escape, and this tale aroused unpitying laughter. But the
reaction which followed was different from what Parnell had
foreseen. Mr. Gladstone did not appear at the first blush so
shocked as might have been expected from so saintly a figure.
It was only when he realized the violent revolt of English
Nonconformity against a ‘ convicted adulterer ’ that he saw
how glievous was the injury to his political interests and

CHARLES STEWART PARNELL 3x9

how inevitable his severance from Parnell had become.
He repudiated Parnell, and Ireland was forced to choose
between the greatest of English parliamentarians, the states-
man who had made every sacrifice for the Irish cause,
who alone could carry the victory in the larger island, and
the proud chieftain under whom the Irish people might
have marched to a free and true partnership in the British
Empire. The choice was bitter, but the forces inexorable.
A meeting of the Irish Party was called on a requisition
signed by thirty-one members. Parnell, re-elected leader
only the day before, was in the chair, looking, as one of
those present put it, ‘ as if it were we who had gone astray,
and he were sitting there to judge us ’. An appeal was
made to him to retire temporarily, leaving the management
of the Party in the hands of a Committee to be nominated
by himself; then, after the excitement had died down, he
could resume the leadership. Parnell said nothing. But
equally strong appeals were made by other members
that he should not retire. In the end, the meeting ad-
journed.

Parnell now fought for time. He believed that Ireland
was behind him, and that if he could only delay decision
long enough, he must win. But when the Party meeting
resumed, his opponents were taking a stronger line. Mr.
T. M. Healy was leading the rebels. ‘ I say to Mr. Parnell
his power has gone,’ he declared. ‘ He derived that power
from the people. We are the representatives of the people.’
Parnell wa^ stung to reply ; ‘ Mr. Healy has been trained
in this warfare,’ he said. ‘ Who trained him? Who gave
him his first opportunity and chance? Who got him his
seat in Parliament ? That Mr. Healy should be here to-day
to destroy me is due to myself.* Day after day the debate
went on, Parnell fighting more and more desperately to
avoid a vote on the real issue, still clinging to the belief that
the people of Ireland would support him against the insur-
gent M.P.s. But he knew that the tide was turning against

320 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

him. His eyes blazed ever more fiercely in his pallid face :
it was only by an intense effort that he . still held himself
in check. On every side tempers were taut, at the breaking-
point. On the fifth day Healy quoted a speech of Parnell’s,
six months before, in which he had referred to an alliance
with the Liberals, ‘ an alliance which I venture to believe
will last.’ ‘ What broke it off? ’ demanded Healy. ‘ Glad-
stone’s letter,’ said Parnell. ‘ No,’ retorted Healy. ‘ It
. perished in the stench of the Divorce Court.’

The end came on the seventh day of the meeting, December
6th, 1890. There were disorderly scenes. John Redmond,
who had stuck to Parnell through thick and thin, used the
phrase, ‘ the master of the Party ’. ‘ Who is to be the

mistress of the Party? ’ cried the bitterest tongue in Ireland.
Parnell rose, his eyes terrible. For a moment it seemed
that he was going to strike Healy, and some of the rebels
even hoped that he would. But: ‘ I appeal to my friend
the chairman,’ said one of them. ‘ Better appeal to your
own friends,’ said Parnell, ‘ better appeal to that cowardly
scoundrel there, that in an assembly of Irishmen dares to
insult a woman.’ There was more barren argument, more
recriminations. Finally, Justin McCarthy rose. ‘ I see no
further use carrying on a discussion which must be barren
of all but reproach, ill-temper, controversy and indignity,’
he said, ‘ and I therefore suggest that all who think with me
at this grave crisis should withdraw with me from this
room.’ Forty-five members filed out silently, twenty-seven
remained behind. And Ireland, Parnell was soon to dis-
cover, was with the majority.

The Catholic Church swung decidedly against him. In
vain he asserted his vanished authority. In vain he fought
with frantic energy at savage Irish by-elections. Another
year of grim struggle at hopeless odds sapped a constitution

( always frail. Then in Morley’s i^pving words, ‘ the veiled
shadow stole upon the scene and Charles Stewart Parnell
struggled for the last time across the Irish Channel to die

CHARLES STEWART PARNELL 321

at Brighton on October 6th, 1891, in the arms of the
woman he loved so well.

It is forty-five years since that final scene. But Parnell’s
figure looms no smaller now, seen through the gathering
mists of history, than it did to his contemporaries. They
saw the politician ; and they saw him, of necessity, through
the spectacles of faction and party prejudice. We see
the man, one of the strangest, most baffling personalities
that ever trod the world’s stage. He never forgot. He
never forgave. He never faltered. He dedicated himself
to a single goal, the goal of Ireland a nation, and he pur-
sued it unswervingly until a rose thrown across his path
opened a new world, the world of love. And, as he had
previously sacrificed all for Ireland, so, when the moment
of choice came, he sacrificed all, even Ireland, for love. A
lesser man might have given more sparingly and kept more.
Most of the Irish politicians who deserted him went un-
willingly. Had he accepted a temporary retirement, he
might have returned, in a year or so, to all his former
power. He was young enough, he was only in his forty-
sixth year when he died, worn out by the struggle he might
so easily have avoided. But though he could command, he
could not conciliate. And so, in place of the applause that
might have been his as first Prime Minister of Ireland, we
have the paler but perhaps wider fame of the undying
legend. In place of the successful politician, we have the
man of fire and ice, of fierce passions held in strong control,
but finally breaking out with overwhelming force, to destroy
and immortalize him. ‘ It will be a nine days’ wonder,* he
said to a colleague, in telling of his decision not to defend
the divorce action. ‘ Nine centuries, sir,’ was the reply.

Such is the tale which comprised all the elements of a
Greek tragedy. Sophocles or Euripides could have found in
it a theme sufficient to their sombre taste. Modern British
opinion rebels at its conclusions. Contemporary foreign
opinion frankly could not understand the political annihila-

M

$22 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

tion of Parnell. It was ascribed to British hypocrisy. But
the result was clear and fatally disastrous. The loves of
Parnell and Kitty O’Shea condemned Ireland to a melan-
choly fate, and the British Empire to a woeful curtailment
of its harmony and strength.

‘B.-P.’

‘ B.-P.’

The three most famous generals I have known in my life
won no great battles over the foreign foe. Yet their names,
which all begin with ‘ B are household words. They are
General Booth, General Botha and General Baden-Powell.
To General Booth we owe the Salvation Army ; to General
Botha, United South Africa; and to General Baden-
Powell, the Boy Scout Movement.

In this uncertain world one cannot be sure of much.
But it seems probable that one or two hundred years hence,
or it may be more, these three monuments that we have
seen set up in our lifetime will still proclaim the fame of
their founders, not in the silent testimony of bronze or stone,
but as institutions guiding and shaping the lives and
thoughts of men.

I remember well the first time I saw the hero of this
article, now Lord Baden-Powell. I had gone with my
regimental team to play in the Cavalry Cup at Meerut.
There was a great gathering of the sporting and social circles
oWhe British Army in India. In the evening an amateur
Vaudeville entertainment was given to a large company.
The feature of this was a sprightly song and dance by an
officer of the garrison, attired in the brilliant uniform of
an Austrian Hussar, and an attractive lady. Sitting as a
young lieutenant in the stalls, I was struck by the quality
of the performance, which certainly would have held its
own on the boards of any of our music-halls. I was
told :

‘ That’s B.-P. An amazing man ! He won the Kadir
Cup, has seen lots of active service. They think no end of
him as a rising soldier; but fancy a senior officer kicking
his legs up like that before a lot of subalterns ! *

M 2

325

326 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

I was fortunate in making the acquaintance of this
versatile celebrity before the polo tournament was over.

Three years passed before I met him again. The scene
and the occasion were very different. Lord Roberts’s army
had just entered Pretoria, and General Baden-Powell, who
had been relieved in Mafeking after a siege of 2 1 7 days, was
riding in two or three hundred miles from the Western
Transvaal to report to the Gommander-in-Chief. I thought
I would interview him on behalf of the Morning Post and
get a first-hand account of his famous defence.

* -N- »

We rode together for at least an hour, and once he got
talking he was magnificent. I was thrilled by the tale, and
he enjoyed the telling of it. I cannot remember the details
but my telegram must have filled the best part of a column.
Before dispatching it I submitted it to him. He read it
with concentrated attention and some signs of embarrass-
ment, but when he had finished he handed it back to me,
saying with a smile, ‘ Talking to you is like talking to a
phonograph.’ I was rather pleased with it, too.

In those days B.-P.’s fame as a soldier eclipsed almost all
popular reputations. The other B.P. — the British Public
— looked upon him as the outstanding hero of the War.
Even those who disapproved of the War, and derided the
triumphs of large, organized armies over the Boer farmers,
could not forbear to cheer the long, spirited, tenacious
defence of Mafeking by barely eight hundred men against
a beleaguering force ten or twelve times their numbers.

No one had ever believed Mafeking could hold out half
as long. A dozen times, as the siege dragged on, the watching
nation had emerged from apprehension and despondency
into renewed hope, and had been again cast down. Millions
who could not follow closely or accurately the main events
of the War looked day after day in the papers for the fortunes

327

of Mafeking, and when finally the news of its relief was
flashed throughout the world, the streets of London became
impassable, and the floods of sterling cockney patriotism^
were released in such a deluge of unbridled, delirious, childish I
joy as was never witnessed again till Armistice Night, 1918.
Nay, perhaps the famous Mafeking night holds the record.

Then the crowds were untouched by the ravages of war.
They rejoiced with the light-hearted frenzy of the spectators
of a great sporting event. In 1918 thankfulness and a sense
of deliverance overpowered exultation. All bore in their
hearts the marks of what they had gone through. There
were too many ghosts about the streets after Armageddon.

One wondered why B.-P. seemed to drop out of the mili-
'^tary hierarchy after the South African War was over. He
held distinguished minor appointments; but all the sub-
stantial and key positions were parcelled out among men
whose achievements were unknown outside military circles,
and whose names had never received the meed of popular
applause.

There is no doubt that Whitehall resented the dis-
proportionate acclamation which the masses had bestowed
upon a single figure. Was there not something ‘ theatrical ’,

‘ unprofessional ’ in a personality which evoked the un-
instructed enthusiasms of the man-in-the-street ? Versa-
tility is always distrusted in the Services. The voice of
detraction and professional jealousy spoke of him as Harley
Street would speak of the undoubted cures wrought by a
quack. At any rate, the bright fruition of fortune and
success was soon obscured by a chilly fog, through which
indeed the sun still shone, but with a dim and baffled ray.

The caprices of fortune are incalculable, her methods
inscrutable. Sometimes when she scowls most spitefully,
she is preparing her most dazzling gifts. How lucky for
B.-P. that he was not in the early years of the century taken
into the central swim of military affairs, and absorbed in all
those arduous and secret preparations which ultimately

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

328

enabled the British Expeditionary Army to deploy for
’^battle at Mons!

How lucky for him, and how lucky for us all! To this
he owes his perennially revivifying fame, his opportunity
for high personal service of the most enduring character;
and to this we owe an institution and an inspiration, charac-
teristic of the essence of British genius, and uniting in a
bond of comradeship the youth not only of the English-
speaking world, but of almost every land and people under
the sun.

i It was in 1907 that B.-P. held his first camp for boys to
''learn the lore of the backwoods and the discipline of scout
life. Twenty-one boys of every class from the East End of
London, from Eton and Harrow, pitched their little tents
on Brownsea Island in Dorsetshire. From this modest
beginning sprang the world-wide movement of boy scouts
and girl guides, constantly renewing itself as the years pass,
and now well over two millions strong.

* ♦ # # *

In 1908 the Chief Scout, as he called himself, published
his book. Scouting for Boys. It appealed to all the sense
of adventure and love of open-air life which is so strong
in youth. But beyond this it stirred those sentiments of
knightly chivalry, of playing the game — any game — earnest
or fun — hard and fairly, which constitute the most important
part of the British system of education.

Success was immediate and far-reaching. The simple
uniform, khaki shorts and a shirt — within the range of the
poorest — was founded upon that of General Baden-Powell’s
old corps, the South African Constabulary. The hat was
the famous hat with the^ flat brim and pinched top whichN
he had worn at Mafeking. The motto ‘ Be Prepared ’ was
founded on his initials. Almost immediately we saw at
holiday times on the roads of Britain little troops and patrols
of boy scouts, big and small, staff in hand, trudging forward
hopefully, pushing their little handcart with their kit and

‘b.-p.’ 329

camping gear towards the woodlands and park-lands which
their exemplary conduct '' speedily threw open to them.
Forthwith there twinkled the camp-fires of a vast new army
whose ranks will never be empty, and whose march will
never be ended, while red blood courses in the veins of youth.

It is difficult to exaggerate the lyioral and mental health
which our nation has derived from this profound and simple
conception. In those bygone days the motto ‘ Be Pre-
pared ’ had a special meaning for our country. Those who
looked to the coming of a great war welcomed the awakening
of British boyhood. But no one, even the most resolute
pacifist, could be offended; for the movement was not
militaristic in character, and even the sourest, crabbedest
critic saw in it a way of letting off youthful steam.
*****

The success of the scout movement led to its imitation in
many countries, notably in Germany. There, too, the little
troops began to march along the roads already trampled by
I the legions.

The Great War swept across the world. Boy scouts
played their part. Their keen eyes were added to the
watchers along the coasts; and in the air raids we saw the
spectacle of children of twelve and fourteen performing with
perfect coolness and composure the useful functions assigned
to them in the streets and public offices.

Many venerable, famous institutions and systems long
honoured by men perished in the storm ; but the Boy Scout
Movement survived. It survived not only the War, but
/the numbing reactions of the aftermath. While so many
elements in the life and spirit of the victorious nations seemed
to be lost in stupor, it flourished and grew increasingly.
Its motto gathers new national significance as the yean
unfold upon our island. It speaks to every heart its message
of duty and honour : ‘ Be Prepared ’ to stand up faithfully
for Right and Truth, however the winds may blow.

ROOSEVELT FROM AFAR

ROOSEVELT FROM AFAR

The life and well-being of every country are influenced
by the economic and financial policy of the United
States. From the cotton-spinners of Lancashire to the
ryots of India ; from the peasantry of China to the pawn-
brokers of Amsterdam; from the millionaire financier
watching the tape machine to the sturdy blacksmith swing-
ing his hammer in the forge; from the monetary philo-
sopher or student to the hard-headed business man or senti-
mental social reformer — all are consciously or unconsciously
affected. For in truth Roosevelt is an explorer who has
embarked on a voyage as uncertain as that of Columbus,
and upon a quest which might conceivably be as important
as the discovery of the New World. In those old days it
was the gulf of oceans with their unknown perils and vicissi-
tudes. Now in the modern world, just as mysterious and
forbidding as the stormy waters of the Atlantic is the gulf
between the producer, with the limitless powers of science
at his command, and the consumer, with legitimate appetites
which will never be satiated.

Plenty has become a curse. Bountiful harvests are
viewed with dread which in the old times accompanied a
barren season. The gift of well-organized leisure, which
machines should have given to men, has only emerged in
the hateful spectacle of scores of millions of able and willing
workers kicking their heels by the hoardings of closed fac-
tories and subsisting upon charity, or as in England upon
systematized relief. Always the peoples are asking them-
selves ‘ Why should these things be ? Why should not the
new powers man has wrested from nature open the portals

333

334 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

of a broader life to men and women all over the world ? ’
And with increasing vehemence they demand that the
thinkers and pioneers of humanity should answer the riddle '
and open these new possibilities to their enjoyment.

A single man whom accident, destiny, or Providence,
has placed at the head of one hundred and twenty millions
of active, educated, excitable and harassed people, has set
out upon this momentous expedition. Many doubt if he will
succeed. Some hope he will fail. Although the policies of
President Roosevelt are conceived in many respects from a
narrow view of American self-interest, the courage, the
power and the scale of his effort must enlist the ardent
sympathy of every country, and his success could not fail
' to lift the whole world forward into the sunlight of an easier
and more genial age.

There is therefore a widespread desire to look at this man
in the midst of his adventure. Trained to public affairs,
connected with the modern history of the United States
by a famous name, at forty-two he was struck down with
infantile paralysis. His lower limbs refused their office.
Crutches or assistance were needed for the smallest move-
ment from place to place. To ninety-nine men out of a
hundred such an affliction would have terminated all forms
of public activity except those of the mind. He refused to
accept this sentence. He fought against it with that same
rebellion against commonly-adopted conventions which we
now see in his policy. He contested elections : he harangued
the multitude: he faced the hurly-burly of American poli-
tics in a decade when they were exceptionally darkened by
all the hideous crimes and corruption of Gangsterdom which
followed upon Prohibition. He beat down opponents in
this rough arena. He sought, gained and discharged offices
of the utmost labour and of the highest consequence. As
Governor of New York State his adnynistration, whatever its
shortcomings, revealed a competent, purposeful personality.
He stooped to conquer. He adapted himself to the special

ROOSEVELT FROM AFAR 335

conditions and to the humiliations which had long obstructed
the entry of the best of American manhood into the unsavoury
world of politics. He subscribed to the Democratic ticket
and made himself the mouthpiece of party aims without
losing hold upon the larger objectives of American public
life.

World events began to move. The Hoover administra-
tion could only gape upon the unheard-of problems of
depression through glut. The long ascendancy of the
Republican regime was clearly drawing to its close. The
Presidency of the United States awaited a Democratic
candidate. Five or six outstanding figures presented them-
selves, in busy scheming rivalry.

In the opinion of many of the shrewdest leaders of his
party, Roosevelt was the weakest of these contestants.
And there were for long those who considered that in hard
common sense and genuine statecraft Roosevelt’s former
leader. Governor A1 Smith, was unquestionably the
strongest. But Roosevelt played his cards in such
a way that Fortune could befriend him. Fortune came
along, not only as a friend or even as a lover, but as an
idolator. There was one moment when his nomination
turned upon as little as the spin of a coin. But when it
fell there was no doubt whose head was stamped upon it.

He arrived at the summit of the greatest economic com-
munity in the world at the moment of its extreme embar-
rassment. Everybody had lost faith in everything. Credit
was frozen. Millions of unemployed without provision
filled the streets or wandered despairing about the vast
spaces of America. The rotten foundations of the banks
were simultaneously undermined and exposed. A uni-
versal deadlock gripped the United States. The richest man
could not cash the smallest cheque. People possessing
enormous intrinsic assets in every kind of valuable security
found themselves for some days without the means to pay
an hotel bill or even a taxi fare. We must never forget that

336 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

this was the basis from which he started. Supreme power
in the Ruler, and a clutching anxiety of scores of millions
who demanded and a^vaited orders.

Since then there has been no lack of orders. Although
the Dictatorship is veiled by constitutional forms, it is none
the less effective. Great things have been done, and greater
attempted. To compare Roosevelt’s effort with that of
Hitler is to insult not Roosevelt but civilization. The
petty persecutions and old-world assertions of brutality in
which the German idol has indulged only show their small-
ness and squalor compared to the renaissance of creative
effort with which the name of Roosevelt will always be
associated.

The President’s second momentous experiment is an
attempt to reduce unemployment by shortening the hours
of labour of those who are employed and spreading the
labour more evenly through the wage-earning masses. Who
can doubt that this is one of the paths which will soon be
trodden throughout the world? If it is not to be so, we
may well ask what is the use to the working masses of
invention and science. Are great discoveries in organiza-
tion or processes only to mean that fewer labourers will
produce more than is required during the same long hours,
while an ever larger proportion of their mates are flung
redundant upon the labour market ? If that were so, surely
the poor English Luddites of a hundred years ago were
right in attempting to break up the new machines. Alone
through the establishment of shorter hours can the wage-
earners enjoy the blessings of modern mass production;
and indeed without shorter hours those blessings are but a
curse.

Thus the Roosevelt adventure claims sympathy and
admiration from all of those in England, and in foreign
countries, who are convinced that the fixing of a universal
measure of value based not upon the rarity or plenty of
any single commodity, but conforming to the advancing

ROOSEVELT FROM AFAR 337

powers of mankind, is the supreme achievement which at
this time lies before the intellect of Man. But very con-
siderable misgivings must necessarily arise when a cam-
paign to att xck the monetary problem becomes intermingled
with, and hampered by, the elaborate processes of social
reform and the struggles of class warfare. In Great Britain
we know a lot about trade unions. It is now nearly a
century since they began to play a part in our life. It is
half a century since Lord Beaconsfield, a Conservative
Prime Minister at the head of an aristocratic and bourgeois
Parliament, accorded them exceptional favour before the
law and protected them from being sued in their corporate
capacity. We have dwelt with British trade unionism ever
since. It has introduced a narrowing element into our
public life. It has been a keenly-felt impediment to our
productive and competitive power. It has become the main
foundation of a Socialist political party, which has ruled
the State greatly to its disadvantage, and will assuredly do
so again. It reached a climax in a general strike, which if
it had been successful would have subverted the Parlia-
mentary constitution of our island.

But when all is said and done, there are very few well-
informed persons in Great Britain, and not many employers
of labour on a large scale, who would not sooner have to
deal with the British trade unions as we know them, than
with the wild vagaries of communist-agitated and totally
unorganized labour discontent. The trade unions have
been a stable force in the industrial development of Britain
in the last fifty years. They have brought steadily to the
front the point of view of the toiler and the urgent require-
ments of his home, and have made these vital matters
imprint themselves upon the laws and customs of our
country. They have been a steadying force which has
counterbalanced and corrected the reckless extravagances
of the Red intelligentsia. Over and over again in thirty
years we have heard employers say, ‘ We might easily go

338 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

further than the trade union leaders and fare a good deal
worse ’ ; and in the Great War, the sturdy patriotism of the '
trade unionists and the masculine common sense of their
officials gave us an invaluable and, as it proved, unbreak-
able basis upon which to carry forward the struggle for
national self-preservation.

But when one sees an attempt made within the space of
a few months to lift American trade unionism by great
i heaves and bounds to the position so slowly built up — and
even then with much pain and loss — in Great Britain, we
cannot help feeling grave doubts. One wonders whether
the struggle of American industrial life — its richness and
fertility, its vivid possibilities to brains and brawn, to handi-
craft and industry, the whole spread over so vast a continent
with such sharp contrasts in conditions and climate — may
not result in a general crippling of that enterprise and
flexibility upon which not only the wealth, but the happi-
ness of modem communities depends. One wonders whether
the rigid and hitherto comparatively modest structure of
American trade unionism will be capable of bearing the
immense responsibilities for national well-being and for the
production of necessaries of all kinds for the people of the
United States which the power now given to them implies.
If anything like a beer racket or any other racket broke in
upon the responsible leaders of American trade unions, the
American democracy might easily wander in a very uncom-
fortable wilderness for ten or twenty years. Our trade
unions have grown to manhood and power amid an enor-
mous network of counter-checks and consequential correc-
tions; and to raise American trade unionism from its
previous conditions to industrial sovereignty by a few sweep-
ing decrees may easily confront both the trade unions and
the United States with problems which for the time being
will be at once paralysing and insoluble.

A second danger to President Roosevelt’s valiant and
heroic experiments seems to arise from the disposition to

ROOSEVELT FROM AFAR 339

hunt down rich men as if they were noxious beasts. It is
a very attractive sport, and once it gets started quite a lot
of people everywhere are found ready to join in the chase.
Moreover, the quarry is at once swift and crafty, and there-
Jfore elusive. The pursuit is long and exciting, and every-
one’s blood is infected with its ardour. The question
arises whether the general well-being of the masses of the
community will be advanced by an excessive indulgence in
this amusement. The .millionaire or multi-millionaire is a
highly economic animal. He sucks up with sponge-like
efficiency money from all quarters. In this process, far from
depriving ordinary people of their earnings, he launches
enterprise and carries it through, raises values, and he
expands that credit without which on a vast scale no fuller
economic life can be opened to the millions. To hunt’
wealth is not to capture commonwealth.

This money-gathering, credit-producing animal can not
only walk — he can run. And when frightened he can fly.
If his wings are clipped, he can dive or crawl. When in
the end he is hunted down, what is left but a very ordinary
individual apologizing volubly for his mistakes, and par-
ticularly for not having been able to get away ?

But meanwhile great constructions have crumbled to the
ground. Confidence is shaken and enterprise chilled, and
the unemployed queue up at the soup-kitchens or march
out upon the public works with ever-growing expense to
the taxpayer and nothing more appetizing to take home to
their families than the leg or the wing of what was once a
millionaire. One quite sees that people who have got
interested in this fight will not accept such arguments
against their sport. What they will have to accept is
the consequences of ignoring such arguments. It is
indispensable to the wealth of nations and to the wage
and life standards of labour, that capital and credit
should be honoured and cherished partners in the economic
system.

340 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

It was a prudent instinct that led Mr. Roosevelt to discard
those attempts at legal price-fixing which have so often been
made in old-world countries, and have always, except in
time of war or in very circumscribed localities, broken down
in practice. Such measures are appropriate to break mono-
polies or rings, but can never be accepted as a humdrum
foundation for economic life. There can never be good
wages or good employment for any length of time without
good profits, and the sooner this is recognized, the sooner
the comer will be turned.

Writing as a former Chancellor of the British Exchequer
for nearly five years, I find myself very much astonished by
a law recently passed in the United States that all returns
of income for the purposes of taxation must be made public.
Such a rule would seem highly obstructive to commercial
revival, as well — though this is minor — as being objection-
able in the sphere of personal relations. In Great Britain
we plume ourselves on collecting effectually the largest
possible revenues from wealth upon as high a scheme of
graduated taxation as will not defeat its own purpose.
Our income and super-tax payers have frequently been
paid tributes by foreign observers for the thoroughness
and punctuality with which they meet their dues. Even our
own Socialist ministers have testified to this. But it has
always been accepted that the relations of the taxpayer,
rich or poor, are with the State and the State alone, and
that neither his employees nor his trade rivals, neither his
neighbours nor his creditors, neither his enemies nor his
friends, should know what has passed between him and the
Treasury. To ask a trader or manufacturer engaged in
productive enterprise, with all the hazards attendant there-
upon, to reveal not only to the collectors of the public
revenue but to all and sundry his income for the year, must
be an impediment to national business almost measureless
j in its irritation, and in its mischief. It seems to me to be
/ only another variant of that hideous folly of Prohibition

ROOSEVELT FROM AFAR 34I

from which the wisdom and virility of the United States by
a patient but irresistible heave of broad shoulders so lately
shook itself free.

No one could write in this sense without at the same time
feeling the justification there is for the anger of the American
public against many of their great leaders of finance. The
revelations and exposures which have flowed in a widening
stream, and even flood, during the last four years, have laid
many prominent persons open to prejudice and public
censure, apart altogether from the law. The passionate
desire of the struggling wage-earner with a family at home
and many applicants for his job, with the vultures of ill-\
health and bad luck hovering above him and those dear to
him, is for clean hands in the higher ranks, and for a square
deal even if it be only a raw deal.

A thousand speeches could be made on this. The
important question is whether American democracy can
clear up scandals and punish improprieties without losing its
head, and without injuring the vital impulses of economic
enterprise and organization. It is no use marching up
against ordinary private business men, working on small
margins, as if they were the officials of Government depart-
ments, who so long as they have attended at their offices
from ten to four in a respectable condition, have done their
job. There are elements of contrivance, of housekeeping
and of taking risks which are essential to all profitable
activity. If these are destroyed the capitalist system fails,
and some other system must be substituted. No doubt
the capitalist system is replete with abuses and errors and
inequities like everything else in our imperfect human
life; but it was under it that only a few years ago the
United States produced the greatest prosperity for the
greatest numbers that has ever been experienced in human
record. It is not illogical to say: ‘Rather than condone
these faults and these abuses we will sweep this system
away no matter what it costs in our material well-being.

342 GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

We will replace it by the only other system which enable
large organizations and developments to be undertaken,
namely, nationalization of all the means of production,
distribution, credit and exchange.’ It is, however, irra-
tional to tear down or cripple the capitalist system without;
having the fortitude of spirit and ruthlessness of action to
create a new communist system.

There, it seems to foreign observers, lies the big choice
of the United States at the present time. If the capitalist
system is to continue, with its rights of private property,
with its pillars of rent, interest and profit, and the sanctity
of contracts recognized and enforced by the State, then it
must be given a fair chance. It is the same for us in the
Old World. If we are to continue in the old leaky lifeboat
amid these stormy seas, we must do our best to keep it
bailed, to keep it afloat, and to steer for port. If we decide
to take to the rafts of a new system, there also we are vocifer-
ously assured there is a chance of making land. But the
Siberian coast is rugged and bleak, and there are long,
cruel frosts in the Arctic Ocean.

It is a very open question, which any household mav
argue to the small hours, whether it is better to have equality
at the price of poverty, or well-being at the price of in-
equality. Life will be pretty rough, anyhow. Whether
we are ruled by tyrannical bureaucrats or self-seeking
capitalists, the ordinary man who has to earn his living,
and tries to make provision for old age and for his dear ones
when his powers are exhausted, will have a hard pilgrimage
through this dusty world. The United States was built
upon property, liberty and enterprise, and certainly it has
afforded the most spacious and ample life to the scores of
millions that has ever yet been witnessed. To make an
irrevocable departure into the Asiatic conceptions would bo
a serious step, and should be measured with a steady ey^^
at the outset.

We must then hope that neither the tangles of the N.R.A.

ROOSEVELT FROM AFAR

343

nor the vague, ethereal illusions of sentimentalists or
^doctrinaires will prevent President Roosevelt from testing
and plumbing the secrets of the monetary problem. If he
succeeds all the world will be his debtor : if he fails he will
at any rate have made an experiment for mankind on a
scale which only the immense strength of the United States
could sustain. It would be a thousand pities if this tre-
mendous effort by the richest nation in the world to expand
consciously and swiftly the bounds of the consuming power
should be vitiated by being mixed up with an ordinary
radical programme and a commonplace class fight. If
failure there be, which God forfend, it will be taken for
a generation as proof positive that all efforts to procure
prosperity by currency and credit inflation are doomed to
failure.

But the President has need to be on his guard. To a
foreign eye it seems that forces are gathering under his
i' shield which at a certain stage may thrust him into the
background and take the lead themselves. If that misfor-
tune were to occur, we should see the not-unfamiliar spec-
tacle of a leader running after his followers to pull them
'^ack. It is to be hoped and indeed believed that the strong
common sense, the sturdy individualism and the cold dis-
illusioned intelligence of the American people will protect
their leader from such inglorious experiences.

However we may view the Presidency which has reached
half its natural span,* it is certain that Franklin Roosevelt
will rank among the greatest of men who have occupied that
proud position. His generous sympathy for the underdog,
his intense desire for a nearer approach to social justice,
place him high among the great philanthropists. His com-
posure combined with activity in time of crisis class him with
famous men of action. His freeing the United States from
prohibition and the vigour of his administrative measures of
\eliel and credit expansion proclaim him a statesman of
• Written in 1934.

GREAT CONTEMPORARIES

344

world renown. He has known how to gain the confidence
and the loyalty of the most numerous and the most ebullient
of civilized communities, and all the world watches his
valiant effort to solve their problems with an anxiety which
is onl)- the shadow of high hope.

THE END

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